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JOSEPH ADDISON. 
After the painting by Godfrey Kneller. 



Bngltsb Classics— Star Series 
THE 

SIR ROGER BE COVERLET PAPERS 

FROM 

THE SPECTATOR 



EDITED FOR SCHOOL USE 
BY 

LAURA JOHNSON WYLIE, Ph. D., (Yale) 

PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH IN VASSAR COLLEGE 




GLOBE SCHOOL BOOK COMPANY 

NEW YORK AND CHICAGO 



1 



G2258 

ILiorte.j y of Conoreesj 
"•\AL lv>f»U KfcCEUEO 

OCT 17 1900 

Copyright «ntry 

ScCf^NP COPY, 
U« Uv*'«l to 
1 OKOta Ua'IStON, 

L0CJ_24j^C!ii. 



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Copyright, 1900, by 

Globe School Book Company. 

M. p. L 



MANHATTAN PRESS 

474 W. BROADWAY 

NEW YORK 



PREFACE 

Partly from the abundance of material open to the 
editor of The Sir Roger de Coverley Papers, partly from 
the requirements of younger students, it has been deemed 
wise in tliis edition to concentrate attention on those 
aspects of the papers that are of most fundamental in- 
terest, merely suggesting secondary lines of study to be 
followed out or not at will. Thus in tlie chronological 
table, only dates bearing on tlie social or intellectual 
history of the time are given, and in the bibliography 
there are mentioned only books of great or special in- 
terest ; in the introductory essays every effort is bent 
towards giving the student a central point of view, and 
thus enabling liim to get at the heart of his subject by 
understanding the social and moral conditions that made 
Tlie Spectator possible. 

A chief aim of this book is, through its suggestions for 

study, to relate the reading of a great masterpiece to the 

student's everyday exjjerience and to his practice as a 

writer of English. For the most valuable of lessons in 

writing, for the admirable doing of what we all constantly 

try to do, there could be nothing better than the Sir 

Roger de Coverley Papers. Their wide range of interest 

and vivid portrayal of everyday life make them at once 

stimulus and example to the appreciative student ; and a 

wise use of them in the classroom should leave him not 

only with a deepened love of literature but with a fair 

working knowledge of the principles of prose composition. 

The time limit is the chief obstacle to such a result. 

iii 



iy PREFACE 

In tlie introduction and notes abundant opportunity is 
given for the student's outside research ; while the facts 
essential to an understanding of the essays have been 
fully told, the constant use of a good dictionary and en- 
cyclopaedia has been assumed, and many suggestions for 
further independent investigation have been given. For 
this latter purpose a small school library is almost a neces- 
sity. It should contain, besides the standard works of 
reference and a good history of the period, as many as 
possible of the books mentioned in the bibliography. 

A brief survey of the suggestions for study will show 
that the psychological method is followed throughout ; 
that the student's experience is taken as the starting 
point for his later progress, and that in its light is inter- 
preted what is unreal or unknown to him in literature. 
The study of the whole book should be based on the same 
principle. A sympathetic reading of the text will provoke 
the questions to which the introductory essays are an 
answer, as well as those others that will lead the student 
to an investigation of the notes or of books of reference. 

The text is based on Morley's edition of Tlie Spectator. 
It has been modernized, when necessary, in spelling and 
punctuation, and changed in a very few unimportant 
particulars. 



CONTENTS 



Introduction : 

I. The Periodical Essay in the Age of Anne vii 

II. The Authors of Tlie Sir Roger cle Coverley Papers : 

Joseph Addison xxiii 

Richard Steele xxxii 

Eustace Budgell xli 

III. Chronological Table xlii 

THE SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY PAPERS. 

CHAPTER 

I. The Spectator Addison. 1 

II. The Club Steele. 6 

III. Sir Roger on Men of Fine Parts Steele. 12 

IV. The Spectator at his Club Addison. 17 

V. A Lady's Library Addison. 22 

"---. VI. Sir Roger at Home^ Addison.,,^-^ 

VII. The Coverley Household Steele. 31 

^ VIII. Will Wimble .v: Addison. ^' 

IX. The Coverley Portraits Steele. 39 

X. The Coverley Ghost Addison. 44 

XI. ASuNDAY AT Sir Roger's Addison. 49 

XII. Sir Roger in Love Steele. 53 

XIII. Economy in Affairs Steele. 59 

XIV. Bodily Exercise Addison. 63 

XV. The Coverley Hunt Budgell. 67 

XVI. The Coverley Witch Addison. 73 

Y 



vi CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XVII. Sir Roger on the Widow Steele, 77 

XVIII. Town and Country Manners Addison. 83 

XIX. Instinct in Animals Addison. 86 

XX. Instinct in Animals Addison. 91 

""^ XXI. Sir Roger at the Assizes Addison. 97 

XXII. The Education of an Heir Addison. 103 

XXIII. The Mischiefs of Party Spirit Addison. 108 

XXIV. The Mischiefs of Party Spirit Addison. 113 

. ^. XXV. Sir Roger and the Gypsies Addison. 118 

XXVI. The Spectator decides to retire to 

the Town Addison. 122 

XXVII. The Spectator's Journey to London Steele. 126 

XXVIII. Sir Roger and Sir Andrew Freeport Steele. 130 

XXIX. The Cries of London Addison. 135 

XXX. Sir Roger comes to Town Addison. 140 

- XXXI. Sir Roger IN Westminster Abbey Addison. 144 

XXXII. Sir Roger upon Beards Budgell. 149 

' XXXIII. Sir Roger at the Play Addison. 153 

XXXIV. Will Honeycomb on Love Budgell. 157 

' XXXV. Sir Roger at Vauxhall Addison. 161 

XXXVI. Death OF Sir Roger DE Coverley Addison. 165 

Facsimile Reprint of Spectator, No. 544 Steele. 169 

Notes 175 

Appendices : 

I. Translation of the Mottoes 189 

II. Suggestions for Study 193 

III. College Entrance Examination Questions 203 

IV. Bibliography 206 



INTRODUCTION 

THE PERIODICAL ESSAY IN THE AGE OF 

ANNE. 

The age of Anne is perhaps the best known of the great 
periods of English literary history. Its fashions and man- 
ners are hardly less vivid to the student of literature than 
those of his own age, while the personalities of its great 
men stand out with singular distinctness. Its thoughts 
are even more familiar than its manners and characters ; 
they have in great part entered into our experience, and 
live in the commonplace of our daily judgments or in the 
common sense of our familiar proverbs. 

It is possible for us to understand the age of Queen 
Anne because it lies at the threshold of modern England : 
in other words, it begins to treat all questions of human 
concern in that rational and tolerant spirit which distinct- 
ively marks the modern thinker. With the Revolution of 
1688 the forces that had been gradually gaining strength 
since the accomplishment of the Reformation suddenly be- 
came the dominant influences in English life and history. 
The position of science as the central interest in the new 
era had been assured since the time of Bacon, but with 
the incorporation of the Royal Society in 1602 came the 
popular recognition of the greatness of the newflgiovement. 
Men of all ranks turned enthusiastically to the study of 
science. Dryden and Boyle, Denham and Cowley, were 
among the early members of the Royal Society, and even 

Charles II., given over to frivolity as he was, found means 

vii 




yiii INTRODUCTION 

to equip a chemical laboratory and time to work in it. The 
study of the natural sciences was, however, only one of the 
ways in which the new scientific impulse found expression. 
An even greater achievement was the application of scien- 
tific methoj to subjects liitherto lying in whole or in part 
without its pale. Thus from Dry den to Addison literary 
criticism, purely empirical in the hand even of a master 
like Ben Jonson, grows more and more scientific in char- 
acter. With Locke the scientific, or experimental, 
method Avas applied more perfectly to metaphysics, to 
politics and to education. In a host of lesser writers 
appears the same effort to reduce to order the phenomena 
with which they were concerned. 

The Revolution of 1688, with its appeal to principles 
and its demand for a rational scheme of government, 
stimulated and defined discussion by forcing it to an im- 
mediate application. J. R. Green calls this period the 
age of law, and, rightly interpreted, no single phrase can 
better describe the common character of its manifold ac- 
tivities. In the world of thought there was everywhere 
the attempt to discover law ; in the world of practice, to 
enforce it. In politics, superficial as was the statesman- 
ship of the day, there Avas for the first time a consistent 
appeal to reason, and an endeavor to represent in the 
government the various forces of the state. In morals 
and manners the same tendency was evident. Social law 
became the great guide to conduct ; laws of taste were 
more and more applied to questions of etiquette and form. 
The underlying principles of the age were thus the same 
as those to which we appeal to-day. The special questions 
then discussed have long been outgrown or tlieir nomen- 
clature has been entirely changed ; but in a common 
desire to treat all questions rationally and to refer them 
consistently to the test of experience, the thinkers of the 
eighteenth century and of the nineteenth are at one. 



INTRODUCTION {^ 

Our knowledge of the age of Anne, made possible by 
the modernness of its thought, is directly due to the vivid 
portrayal of their time by its men of letters. They 
formed, indeed, an essential part of the society that they 
represented. Brought by temporary political conditions 
into places of power and influence, they met on equal 
terms lords and men of the Avorld. Swift, after his youth 
of poverty and chagrin, dined with the ministers that he 
had helped, or was helping, to great place. Pope's familiar 
friends were Bolingbroke, Peterborough, and Bathurst. 
Addison and Steele were the companions of their political 
patrons. The social life of tliese men, which seems at 
first sight to narrow tlieir work, in reality gave unity and 
force to the cause for which they stood. They were bent, 
as truly as their more purely political friends, on a reor- 
ganization of society, though for both the word included 
no more than the upper and upper-middle classes. Yet, 
limited as w^as their idea of society when compared with 
ours, it was far broader than any previous conception; and 
by its very restrictions allowed for a more perfect unifica- 
tion of purpose and effort than has been possible in after 
times. To enlarge the world of the bigot, to deepen the 
world of the trifler, by bringing home to both what to the 
thinker made life worth living, was the aim of the best men 
of the age in their best endeavors. In such an effort they 
were singularly happy in holding a position that enabled 
them to preach in tlie language of the men of the world. 

The greatness of literature in the early eighteenth cen- 
tury, though largely due to temporary political conditions, 
was made possible by the growth of a reading public that 
towards the end of the seventeenth century began to be 
a powerful factor in the development of literature proper. 
In the age of Elizabeth the great means of reaching the 
people had been the stage, though sermons and pamphlets 
were even then widely read. Puritan England had, how- 



X INTRODUCTION 

ever, been too deeply absorbed in political and religious 
questions to care for any literature besides the theological 
and political discussions in Avhich it abounded. After the 
return of Charles II. the mass of the nation seems to have 
gone on its way, reading sermons and pamphlets, if read- 
ing at all, while literature and the stage found their 
audience in the court and in the small fraction of the 
wealthy London society that followed its fashion. The 
literature written to so small and select a circle has natu- 
rally a certain society tone ; its appeals to ladies and 
gentlemen, its urbanity and freedom from pedantry, prove 
how really the writers of the day were appropriating the 
courtly manners of speech and thought. Had Charles 
been as generous to letters as he was appreciative of 
them, and had constitutional questions remained in the 
background during his reign, it is possible that Eng- 
land might have developed a court literature as distinc- 
tive, if neither so artistic nor so lofty, as that of France. 
Actually, however, events took a different course. The 
threatening of Protestant interests and constitutional 
government, whether real or supposed, called the Puri- 
tan middle class from its isolation and forced even Charles 
and James to recognize its political power. It was to reach 
this already influential public thatDryden's Absalom and 
Achitophel was written in 1681. The unparalleled success 
of the satire not only proved the strength of this public and 
showed its interest in practical questions of religion and 
government ; it marked the passage of literature from the 
service of the court to the service of the government and 
of the people, and so connects its future with that of the 
larger world of readers which was then beginning to 
turn to letters for amusement and information. For 
politics was but one, though at the time undoubtedly the 
first, among the interests of English middle-class readers. 
With their growth in wealth and power and their reaction 



INTRODUCTION xi 

against the religious enthusiasm of the generation before, 
there had come a keen scientific interest in the world 
around them, a moral fervor for right living and a desire 
for things comely and of good report in daily life. With 
such a public sentiment, tlie development of literature 
was assured : the task of writers was only to get into 
touch with the many waiting and eager for their teaching. 

The bringing together of writers and the reading public 
was, as we have seen in the case of Dryden, precipitated 
by the political conditions of the years about the Revolu- 
tion. In the burst of loyalty that welcomed Charles II. to 
the throne reason was forgotten, and for a time the king^s 
will was supreme. But the opposition aroused by his 
frivolity and misgovernment forced Charles to support his 
cause by an appeal to men of letters. Beyond an occa- 
sional and grudging reward for the greatest service, his 
appreciation never went. Dryden, for su^^porting,, per- 
haps saving, the government in a great crisis, was given, 
so far as we can tell by documentary evidence, an unlu- 
crative post in the customs. But Cowley, who had been a 
devoted follower of the royal fortunes, was wholly neg- 
lected, and Butler, whose Hudihras had given a telling 
blow to the Puritans, died in misery and want. Under 
the successor of Charles men of letters fared even worse ; 
for James was utterly lacking in literary appreciation, 
and substituted for Charles's superficial generosity of man- 
ner a grudging acknowledgment as well as a grudging 
payment of his debts to literature. Indeed, as far as he 
could, he repressed the activities and discouraged the 
development of the writers of his reign. 

With the Revolution of 1688 came an almost immediate 
change in the position of men of letters : their power, 
gained in spite of the policy of the Stuart kings, became 
suddenly necessary to the new government. The estab- 
lishment of a constitutional monarchy, with a king at its 



xii INTRODUCTION 

head whose power could be supported by no aj^peal to loy- 
alty or tradition, demanded clear understanding between 
government and people — an understanding tliat could be 
best reached through the intervention of men of letters. 
The need of their suj^port was indeed manifest. William's 
claim to the throne rested nominally on the choice of his 
subjects, in reality on the intrigue and chicanery of poli- 
ticians. Alien to England, his interests and ambitions 
could appeal but little to his new people, while his cold- 
ness of nature made him slow to win their affection. He 
had no love of letters, and especially no love of English 
letters. But in his endeavor to gain the ear of his people, 
he could not afford to leave unused the power that litera- 
ture offered him. Among his ministers themselves were 
writers who had borne no small part in forming the taste 
of their time. Thus Lord Somers, solicitor-general, had 
urged Tonson to a second edition of Paradise Lost, and 
had labored at a translation of Plutarch's Lives. Dorset 
was an intelligent and aj^preciative patron of letters. 
Charles Montague, afterwards Earl of Halifax, joined with 
Prior in 1687 in writing The Country Alouse and the City 
Mouse. These men, who had helped to defeat the Stuarts 
by venomous attacks on their policy, naturally valued to 
the full the new power of literature. Writers of ability 
were at once called to positions of influence, and for the 
next quarter-century, men of letters were the well paid, 
because the valued, servants of the state. Dryden, from 
his past career and his religion, Pope for his religion 
alone, was excluded from a share in public affairs. But 
except for some such evident reason, men of letters 
were sure of employment under government. Swift, 
in spite of his supposed attacks on orthodoxy, was 
given a deanery, Addison was without office for only 
a few months of his life, and hosts of lesser writers, 
Shadwell and Tate, Ambrose Philips and Parnell, 



INTRODUCTION xiii 

Budgell and Walsh, held positions more or less respon- 
sible and lucrative. 

The press, Avhich for the last three-quarters of a century 
had been trying itself in the varying political conditions of 
England, offered men of letters, thus called to the support 
of government, a ready means of reaching the people. The 
history of English journalism is usually dated from the 
earliest years of the seventeenth century, but up to 1619 
the so-called newspapers were issued irregularly, and were 
in fact a sort of official bulletins, ordinarily published by 
the king's printer and preceded by notices that they were 
*^Set forth by Authority" or ^^ commanded by his 
Majesty to be published in Print.'' After 1619, however, 
there were regularly published small, badly printed sheets 
chiefly devoted to foreign news. The title of the first of 
these journals that appeared regularly is characteristic 
of the class : Weekly Keivs from Italy, Ger mania, Hun- 
garia, Bohemia, the Palatinate, France and the Low 
Countries. In spite of many changes of name and form 
the Weekly Xeivs was regularly published from 1623 to 
1640, when, with the meeting of the Long Parliament, 
domestic affairs became the centre of interest. The in- 
tensity of this interest appears in the fact, that from 1640' 
to 1649, the year in which Charles I. was executed, more 
than a hundred political journals were published under 
various names, and from 1649 to the Eestoration more 
than eighty others were added to the number. 

These publications, while containing in germ the later 
newspaper, yet resembled it but slightly. The news in 
them, meagre in itself, was usually confined to a single 
subject or phase of a subject, and what comment there 
was allied itself with the bitter invectives that filled the 
pamphlets of the age. Freedom of discussion, never ab- 
solute, was limited by an act of the Long Parliament in 
1647, and further restricted after the Eestoration by the 



xiv INTRODUCTION 

policy of Charles. The king not only saw that the cen- 
sorship of the press was more rigorously enforced, but 
established organs of his own from which alone authori- 
tative news could be obtained. Even when the Licensing 
Act expired in 1679 the new freedom was of little benefit 
to the papers, since judges and juries declared that the 
royal authority was still necessary to the publication of 
political news. Tlie Gazette of London, established in 
1666, after the failure of several short-lived papers, re- 
mained the court organ for some years. In the stormy 
days of the Exclusion Bill and the Popish Plot, the gov- 
ernment, hard pressed by the unscrupulous but popular 
Grub Street writers, supplemented this official bulletin 
with a new journal, the famous Ohservator, which was 
entrusted to the stanch royalist Roger lyEstrange. This 
paper, designed to allow freer comment and fuller argu- 
ment, was written in question and answer, and, while as 
rigidly edited as The Gazette, marks a gain in force and 
variety of treatment and in its attempt to appeal to the 
reason and interest of its readers. 

These official organs of the government were undoubt- 
edly the first means of its iournalistic communications with 
the reading public ; but neither their dry and one-sided 
announcements, nor the scurrilous attacks of the Grub 
Street writers, could account for the swift growth of 
the press. The real centres of discussion from the 
beginning of the reign of Charles were in the London 
coffee-houses, the first of which was established in 1652. 
Here men of similar interests and tastes met to hear the 
news and talk over affairs, political or literary, financial 
or social, as the case might be. In the discussions of 
these groups of familiar friends there was a freedom and 
vitality lacking to the formal utterances of such a press 
as then existed. It was in them that the public opinion 
of the capital formed itself, and it was to bring the 



INTRODUCTION XV 

curious news-lovers of the country into touch with these 
centres of thought that the news-letters originated. The 
writers of these letters, often employed by some provincial 
great person — a lord, a county magistrate, an ambitious 
clergyman — are the true ancestors of our reporters. Free 
from censorship they were able to roam from coffee-house 
to coffee-house, to follow the busy activities of the city 
and to pick up stories of court doings or choice bits of 
gossip. In them we find journalism, under the^ double 
stimulus of freedom and appreciation, taking a long step 
toward that impartial discussion of morals and manners 
which was so soon to make of periodical literature the 
greatest power of the age. 

For the creation of the modern journal there was but a 
single step to be taken : the thought of club and coffee- 
house, the gossip of the news-letter, were to be made ac- 
cessible through the newspaper to the general public. In 
this development the work of two men is of particular 
interest. In 1690 John Dunton, a bookseller of London, 
began the publication of The Athenian Gazette, changed 
after a few numbers, out of deference to the authorities, 
to The Athenian Mercury. Dunton, who seems to have 
been of an inventive and ingenious turn of mind, had the 
idea, so popular in his time, of mingling amusement and 
instruction in a paper composed of questions and answers 
and conducted by a club of four men known as the Athe- 
nian Society. The questions and answers given in the 
paper, singularly interesting as showing the condition 
of the public mind twenty years before Addison began to 
write, should convince the most skeptical how necessary 
was that plain teaching of plain morals that was to be his 
great work. However, The Athenian Mercury did its 
best service in suggesting to Defoe that he should add to 
the political discussions of his Revieio, begun in 1704 and 
continued to 1713, some treatment of social and literary 



^y{ INTRODUCTION 

questions. Defoe, a violent politician and a stringent mor- 
alist, undertook, in the reports of the famous Scandalous 
Club, to comment on the vices and frailties of his time. 
Though his Puritanism shut him out from the sympathy 
of the polite world, and though his style was that of the 
pamphleteer, his work marks the final advance to the treat- 
ment of moral and social questions which was to be the 
special distinction ot The Tatler and Tlie Spectator. 

The discovery of a public waiting to be amused and 
instructed and the indication of the best way to reach 
it was the task of Dunton and Defoe. To Steele, 
and later to Addison, it was left to raise the periodical 
essay to a first place in literature. In this work, as 
in so much else, the part of Steele was that of pioneer. 
Moved almost equally by a desire to better his ever 
uncertain fortunes and to benefit the society in which 
he lived, he saw, with the quick eye of the journalist, 
the new literary opportunity open to him. With the 
same journalistic instinct he took advantage of a chance 
circumstance to bring himself at once into public notice. 
Swift, under the name of Isaac Bickerstaff, had in 1708 
issued a pamphlet satirizing especially the prophecies of 
a shoemaker astrologer, John Partridge, who, besides other 
writings, had for several years edited an astrological alma- 
nac very popular with the middle and lower classes of Lon- 
don readers. After an introduction so absolute in its irony 
as to convince many — among others the "■ Inquisition at 
Portugal," which burnt it for heresy — of the sincerity of his 
work, Isaac Bickerstaif foretold the death of Partridge on 
the 29th of the following March. After the appointed date 
there appeared another letter, stating that Partridge had 
died within about four hours of the time prophesied. In 
the violent discussion that followed. Partridge protesting 
that he was still alive, Swift elaborately proving that he 
was dead, the name of Bickerstaff was in everybody's 



INTRODUCTION xvii 

mouth, and Steele, taking it as the pseudonym for his 
essays in The Tatler, assured for his new paper an intro- 
duction to many readers. 

The purpose and aim of The Tatler ally it witli the 
soundest and best forces of the time. '' The general pur- 
pose of this Paper/' says Steele in his dedication to Arthur 
Maynwaring of the first collected edition of the essays 
of Tlie Tatler, '^ is to expose the false Arts of Life, to pull 
off the Disguises of Cunning, Vanity, and Affectation, 
and to recommend a general Simplicity in our Dress, our 
Discourse, and our Behaviour." While the general aim of 
the paper is thus the same as that of Defoe's Scandalous 
Club, which set out as directly in The Review to chas- 
tise vice and recommend virtue, the spirit in which the 
reform is carried on is distinctly different. Steele is a 
man of the world as well as a moralist, and, however 
lightly we interpret his strictures on his own conduct, he 
was thoroughly at home in the social life of those whom 
he set out to reform. His interpretation of morality is at 
one with the best thought of his age, which was finding 
in its new enthusiasm for conduct an ideal no less strenu- 
ous than the religious zeal of Puritanism. The motto of 
the early TatJers 

Quidquid agunt homines 

— — nostri est farrago libelli, 



suggests the work of the reporter rather than of the 
teacher. But the variety and.scope of the subject-matter 
of the new periodical were no less conspicuous than the 
unity of its spirit and teaching. Steele the journalist 
was morally as much in earnest as Steele the author of 
The Christian Hero or The Funeral. AVhether he speaks 
of duelling or the last new play, of drunkenness or some 
feminine folly of the time, he treats his subject with sound 
sense and a genuine love of goodness and decorum. 

In range of subject-matter The Tatler equals Tlie Spec- 



xviii INTRODUCTION 

tator, while in its art we note as the numbers go on a 
steady advance toward the unity and perfection of its suc- 
cessor. The earlier papers discuss a variety of themes, 
each dated from its appropriate coffee-house. *' All Ac- 
counts of Gallantry, Pleasure and Entertainment," says 
Steele in the first number of The Tatler, '*^ shall be under 
the Article of White's Chocolate-house ; Poetry, under 
that of Will's Coffee-house ; Learning, under the Title of 
Grecian ; Foreign and Domestic News, you will have from 
St. James's Coffee-house ; and what else I have to offer on 
any other Subject, shall be dated from my own Apartment." 
The filling of the small single sheet of which The Tatler 
was composed with several distinct letters gradually gave 
way to the publishing of a single essay, better wrought 
and giving a fuller treatment of its subject. In this ar- 
tistic growth Addison had undoubtedly a great influence, 
though he became a regular contributor to The Tatler 
only after its eightieth number, and wrote for it in all 
only about forty-two of its two hundred and seventy-one 
numbers. But in spite of its growing excellence and 
prosperity it was only two years till, for some reason not 
yet understood. The Tatler ceased to be. Its last number 
was issued in January, 1711. The first number of The 
Spectator appeared in the following March. Addison 
and Steele were from the first united in its management, 
and it had besides the inestimable advantage of succeed- 
ing The Tatler. Before it began, the experimental stage 
of the new form of literature was past, and from the first 
we find in it a certainty of touch and an artistic excel- 
lence that assure its place in literature. 

The peculiar character of The S])ectator is chiefly due 
to the place that Addison took in the conduct of the new 
paper. In speaking of Addison's contributions to TJie 
Tatler, Steele tells us in an oft quoted speech that he 
** fared like a distressed Prince, who calls in a powerful 



INTRODUCTION xix 

Neighbour to his Aid ; I was undone by my Auxiliary ; 
when I had once called him in, I could not subsist without 
Dependence on him.'' By this and his other generous trib- 
utes to his friend, Steele has exposed himself to the fate 
of the over-modest man ; for all the world has been only 
too ready to take him at his own estimate. To him 
undoubtedly belongs the merit of discovery and initiative ; 
just as truly as The Tatler prepared the way for The 
Spectator did Steele's co-operation make possible the 
work of Addison. Yet, in spite of Steele's journalistic 
greatness, it is undoubtedly Addison who, in both art 
and character, most truly represents the movement in lite- 
rature for which both The Tatler smcl The Sjyectator stand. 
The superiority of The Spectator is due both to its gain 
in elegance, purity, and correctness of style, and to its 
larger, saner, and nobler conception of life. In devotion 
to the public good, in genuine humanity and in devout 
religious faith the great friends were at one. With these 
qualities Addison combined fine scholarship, a Shake- 
spearian exquisiteness of humor, and an artistic power 
hardly excelled in our literature. He thus stands as the 
best single exponent of the great social revolution in litera- 
ture with which modern England begins. 

The direct appeal of The Tatler and The Spectator to 
their public was the sign that the social revolution in 
literature had been as completely accomplished as the 
political revolution of 1688. From the early days of Dry- 
den, when literature had exchanged its Latin pedantries 
for the elegance of the courtier, the advance toward this 
end had been inevitable : with the publication of Absalom 
and Achitophel the barriers separating court and city 
readers had been once and for all broken down. But be- 
fore the publication of The Spectator the new public had 
not only been definitely recognized, but was powerful 
enough to insure the financial independence of its favorite 



XX INTRODUCTION 

writers. Steele had in this, as in so much else, been quick 
to take advantage of the new conditions. He is, indeed, 
no more backward in expressing his desire for support from 
Tlie Tatler than in declaring his intent to improve, in how- 
ever humble a way, the society in which he lived. In its 
fourth number, under cover of the editorial " we," he 
tells us that he had ^^all along informed the Public, that 
we intend to give them our Advices for our own Sakes, 
and are labouring to make our Lucubrations come to 
some Price in Money for our more convenient Support 
in the Service of the Public.'' The fact that he and 
Addison bettered their fortunes in this journalistic ven- 
ture in the days when writers still played for great stakes 
in the service of government, is almost as significant in 
the history of men of letters as Pope's achievement of a 
competence from his writings alone. In the evil days of 
Walpole's ministry there was still to be a long struggle 
before the relation of writers to their constituency was in 
any sense defined ; but from the time of Addison and 
Steele there could be no real doubt as to its issue. 

Men of letters had now come to rely on the readers of 
the middle class, and the taste of these readers was in turn 
impressing itself deeply on literature. The world into 
which literature had passed from the study and the draw- 
ing-room seems narrow in comparison with the world of 
to-day ; the democracy of club man and squire is almost 
aristocratic to the reader of the nineteenth century. The 
public for whom The Spectator was written was the city 
world of society and trade, with such country readers as 
aspired to connection with the intellectual or social life 
of the capital. Within these limits, however, no human 
interest or ambition was left untouched ; and all subjects 
were discussed with a view alike to the trained thinker 
and the reader beginning to seek his way through library 
shelves. Kindliness and integrity were now seriously 



INTRODUCTION xxi 

treated for the benefit of the sober-minded, now playfully 
insinuated in the satire that would catch the ear of the men 
about town ; fashions in clothes or etiquette, in novel or 
drama, were considered in their turn, and in each was some 
touch that universalized and humanized it into a subject 
of general interest. The urbanity that in the best and 
broadest sense characterizes this new literature has been 
ascribed, naturally enough, to the influence of the French 
court and literature ; but, though there were many points 
of likeness between the writers of the age of Queen Anne 
and their French contemporaries, the Englishmen were 
essentially national and original in their work. Another 
explanation of it, and perhaps a truer one, traces it to 
the influence of women, now becoming so large a part of 
the reading public. Yet these forces, each in its own way 
so potent, were operative because of the general desire for 
civility and decorum, characteristic of the best men of the 
age, and shared in a degree by even the more frivolous of 
the readers of The Sjjectator. 

The reforming impulse of the age of Anne is perhaps its 
noblest characteristic, but its great writers were too great 
artists to be content with a wearisome didacticism. The 
critics of the day were thinking much about the function 
of literature, and were well of accord that its purpose was 
to instruct and to amuse. To amuse by teaching, to teach 
by amusing, was the double aim of the two greatest of the 
contributors to The Spectator. The ideal of social life for 
which they stood combined the charms of grace and good- 
ness, of strength and culture, in a way that was wholly new. 
Sidney, Spenser, and Milton had, it is true, made this ideal 
of individual character familiar to the reader of English 
literature. But the attempt to imbue society with some- 
thing akin to the enthusiasm of these great men for moral 
and artistic beauty, to combine in social life the grace of 
the Cavalier with something of the moral loftiness of the 



xxii INTRODUCTION 

Puritan, was a distinctly new movement, and the glory 
of leading it belongs pre-eminently to Steele and Addison, 
the two men who most clearly expressed the desire of their 
age for a life intellectual without pedantry, decorous with- 
out austerity, upright without hypocrisy, spiritual without 
bigotry. The method of their teaching was as varied as 
its aim was single. Sermons for the grave, satire for the 
witty, fill their papers. Now they speak in allegory, now 
talk simply of the simplest affairs of life. Again we have 
such a series of observations and reflections as the Sir 
Roger cle Coverley Papers, the best known and the most 
characteristic essays of The Spectator. Long comment on 
these papers is unnecessary, since in studying them we best 
come to understand their value as reflecting with singular 
veracity the world of which they once formed a part, and 
as representing the most characteristic works of Addi- 
son and Steele, artists wide in human sympathy, and ex- 
quisite in kindly humor, 



INTRODUCTION xxiii 



THE AUTHORS OF THE SIR ROGER DE 
COVERLEY PAPERS. 

JOSEPH ADDISON". 

'J'osEPH Addison was born on the first of May, 1672, in 
^ilston. a small town near Amesbnry in Wiltshire. Of 
Kife mother we know little ; but his father, the Rev. 
Lancelot Addison, was a man of much originality and 
independence of character. The son of a clergyman and 
himself destined for the Church, he was a student at Ox- 
ford during the stormy days of the Puritan Visitation. It 
seems to have been due largely to the tyranny of the ruling 
power that he became so staunch and outspoken a Royalist 
that he was forced to leave the university. For a time he 
supported himself by acting as Chaplain to Royalist 
families, and after the Restoration, as a small reward for 
his loyalty, was appointed Chaplain to the garrison at Dun- 
kirk and later to the army in Tangier. The latter position 
he lost on his return to England for a visit in 1670, but 
through the influence of a friend he soon obtained the 
small living at Milston, and after several less important 
appointments was, in 1683, made Dean of Lichfield. He 
could, in all probability, have been made a bishop had not 
his Royalist opinions, after the Revolution of 1688, barred 
the way to preferment. 

Lancelot Addison was as remarkable for gifts of mind 
and amiability of manner as for his independence of char- 
acter. He was in his own day an author of considerable 
repute. Though his most popular books seem to have 



xxiv INTRODUCTION 

been those on theological and devotional subjects, t?ie works 
embodying his observations on Tangier are peculiarly char- 
acteristic. They show their author to have been a man 
of lively curiosity, keen perception, and a power of ex- 
pression that give tliem, forgotten as they are, a touch of 
genuine interest. But the family life of Lancelot Addi- 
son was even more influential in the later development 
of his children than his intellectual power. Our scant 
knowledge of fact here rests chiefly on the friendly 
testimony of Richard Steele, who, while at the Charter- 
house and Oxford, spent some of his vacations at his 
friend's home in Lichfield. It may be tliat Steele's praise 
was partial, and it was certainly used to point a moral ; but 
at least he describes a home that must often have been 
present to tlie memory of the great friends in their life- 
long efforts to elevate the home life of their countrymen. 
Mr. Addison, says Steele in the 235th Tatler, was the one 
man he knew who lived " with his children with equa- 
nimity and a good grace ; " and then he goes on to sketch 
the results of his wise justice in the mutual courtesy of 
the children and in the kindliness that refined their inter- 
course with each other. 

Before Addison was sent to the Charterhouse he had 
already attended school in Salisbury and Lichfield. Of 
his life there, little is known. At Lichfield he is said 
to have been the leader of a '^ barring out." Still earlier 
he was the hero of a more characteristic story. Hav- 
ing committed some childish naughtiness, his terror over- 
came him and he took to the fields, making his home 
in a hollow tree till discovered and restored to his 
parents. Of his studies we know even less than of these 
escapades. It was probably at the Charterhouse, then 
one of the best and best known of the great English 
schools, that he laid the foundation of that classical 
scholarship which was the basis of all his culture. There 



INTRODUCTION XXV 

he certainly began his friendship with Eichard Steele. 
But though this is one of the most memorable friendships 
of our literary history, though it was destined to last almost 
till the end of Addison's life and to stimulate his mind to 
its best and happiest activity, we know little more of it 
during his school years than the mere fact of its exist- 
ence. 

In 1687 Addison went to Queen's College, Oxford, and 
two years later was appointed demy at Magdalen. In 
1693 he took his master's degree, in 1697 was elected pro- 
bationary, and in 1698 actual fellow. During the ten 
years of his residence he did some tutoring, having a 
student put under his care when he was himself only nine- 
teen years old ; but he seems to have devoted himself 
chiefly to study, and it was during this time that he began 
to make his mark in London as a young man of rare 
scholarly promise. Perhaps the most important circum- 
stance in these years of quiet study was his development 
from the narrow critical judgments of his school days 
toward the more liberal views of his manhood. In his 
versified Account of the Greatest English Poets — '^ the 
muse-possest," as he calls them — Addison is at his worst 
and callowest as a critic, showing neither sympathy with 
the great traditions of English poetry nor any worthy 
knowledge of them. Shakespeare is unnamed ; the one 
dramatist he mentions is Congreve ; Milton is recognized 
as the follower of antiquity rather than as one of the great- 
est of English poets. Even his occasionally just appreci- 
ations lose their value from his exaggerated estimate of 
the virtues of inferior poets. As he advanced in his uni- 
versity life we find that he attained to better standards of 
criticism, and that his taste grew constantly severer and 
more refined. His preface to Dryden's translation of The 
Georgics and his notes on a projected translation of Ovid 
show us the great critic of later days in the making. It ia 



xxvi INTRODUCTION 

interesting to note that, so far as this change is a matter 
of record, it was brought about by his more and more in- 
telligent study of the classics. 

Addison had long had it in mind, though perhaps 
rather from deference to his father's desire than from any 
wish of his own, to enter the Church. When the time for 
final decision came, he was, according to Tickell, withheld 
by his own shyness from becoming a clergyman. Steele, 
however, undoubtedly a better authority, lays the deci- 
sion to the intervention of Lord Halifax, then known as 
Charles Montague, who urged that " Mr. Addison turn 
his thoughts to the civil world." Halifax, at that time 
one of the great Whig leaders, was on the watch for men of 
power who would support his. party. Addison's Address 
to King WilUatn, a poem written in 1G95, had already sug- 
gested his connection with politics, and the Latin poem 
on the Peace of Rysioich had procured him a high reputa- 
tion. The arguments of Halifax, as presented by Steele, 
were peculiarly fitted to appeal to a moralist like Addison ; 
and when to his portrayal of '' the pravity and corruption 
of men of business, who wanted liberal education " and 
the need in public affairs of integrity and ability was 
added the solid inducement of a pension of £300 a year 
from the Crown, there was no reason why Addison should 
hesitate to fit himself by travel and further study for a 
political career. 

Addison thus set out on his tour of Europe in the 
double character of scholar and future statesman. His 
Latin verse opened the way for his acquaintance with 
men of letters, while his introduction from Lord Halifax 
insured his entrance into diplomatic circles. It is worth 
noting in relation to the manners of the day that, of his 
four years abroad, he spent nearly eighteen months in 
studying the French language. Europe was still in great 
part the Europe of the Latin poets, and he saw it so 



INTRODUCTION XXvii 

wholly with their eyes that some critics say The Remarks 
on Italy might as well have been written at home. But 
his observations of manners and scenery show plainly the 
keen interest in men and things that was in after years 
the especial endowment of the Spectator. 

In 1701 Addison was chosen to attend Prince Euo-ene 
as secretary of the King, but his hopes of political ad- 
vancement were in the following year cut short by the 
^ath of William. He lost by this not only his position 
as secretary and the pension he had held for foreign study, 
but the patronage of Lord Halifax, who on the accession of 
Anne was dropped from the Privy Council. In the follow- 
ing year Addison's father died, and when he returned to 
London in 1703 he seemed farther than ever before from 
preferment or success. If we may believe the rumors con- 
cerning his life at this time, he lived in the utmost sim- 
plicity, barely escaping the hardships of a Grub Street 
life. However, even then, his acquirements must have 
made him a person of some distinction. The Kit-Kat 
Club, made up of thirty-nine of the leading Whigs, was 
one of the centres of party interest in London. Tonson, 
the first of the great English publishers, had been one of 
its founders, and by his influence and that of Lord Hali- 
fax, Addison, soon after his return to England, was 
elected one of its members. Excepting his election to the 
Club and the general fact of his straitened circumstances, 
we know few particulars of Addison's life for the year or 
more after his return from his travels. He was probably 
busy, as eldest son, in settling his father's estate, and he 
must have prepared for the press Remarks on Several 
Parts of Italy, which he published in 1705. 

The respect paid him is curiously illustrated by the cir- 
cumstances in which he emerged from this period of ob- 
scurity. When, after the victory of Blenheim, Godolphin, 
then lord-treasurer, asked Halifax whom he could find to 



xxviii INTRODUCTION 

celebrate it worthily, Halifax recommended Addison, but 
insisted that he be treated with proper dignity, and urged 
in his behalf that, while many fools and blockheads were 
maintained in their pride and luxury at the public expense, 
such men as were really an honor to their age and country 
were shamefully suffered to languish in obscurity. Godol- 
phin seems to have applied to him in fitting manner, and, 
as a result of the negotiation, Addison wrote The Campaign, 
and was at once made commissioner of appeal in the 
excise, as an earnest of greater favors to follow. Dull as 
The Campaign undoubtedly is — ^^ a gazette in rhyme ^' ac- 
cording to Warton — it admirably fulfilled the political 
purpose for which it was written. Addison reaped his 
due reward when, in 1706, he was made under secretar3^of 
state. On the loss of this office in 1708 he was almost 
immediately made secretary to the lord lieutenant of 
Ireland, and in the same year he was elected to Parliament. 
When in 1710 he was deprived of his secretaryship he could 
say that within the twelvemonth he had '^lost a place 
of £2,000 per annum, and an estate in the Indies of £14,- 
000." As before the end of 1711 he was able to pay £10,000 
for the estate of Bilton there is no doubt that the fruits of 
his political toils had been far from contemptible. 

During the years between his return to England and his 
fall from political power, Addison had written little that is 
noteworthy. Besides The Campaign and his Remarks on 
Several Parts of Italy, he had helped Steele with The 
Tender Husband. In 1706 he had brought out Rosamond, 
an unsuccessful opera, and in 1710 had started the Whig 
Examiner in defence of the government. From May, 1709, 
when he began his contributions to The Taller, he had been 
a somewhat regular contributor, writing in all forty-two of 
its two hundred and seventy-one papers. After his fall 
from power he united with Steele to plan a new paper, 
The Spectator, to be published daily instead of three times 



INTRODUCTION xxix 

a week as its predecessor had been. It is in The Spectator 
that we for the first time find the Addison whom we know 
to-day. Circumstances were indeed singularly propitious 
for the work of the great moralist and man of letters. The 
periodical essay offered him the best possible means of 
reaching his audience, and he was also working directly 
with Steele, the friend whose mind and methods most 
happily inspired and utilized his power. 

But tliough Addison's ultimate claim to greatness un- 
doubtedly rests on Tlie Spectator, perhaps the highest point 
of his success with his contemporaries was marked by the 
acting of Cato in April of 1713. In dramatic criticism 
Addison is a classicist of classicists and he aimed in Cato 
to produce a play true to his theories. Though many in 
his own day saw its dramatic weakness, its regularity of 
construction and elegance of diction were universally 
applauded. Those who, like Voltaire, believed in the 
dramatic theory of Addison considered it one of the great 
masterpieces of the modern drama. Its temporary suc- 
cess on the stage was, however, much less due to any in- 
herent quality of the play than to the part it bore in the 
political history of the time. Brought out at the instiga- 
tion of his Whig friends, its lofty, if somewhat stilted, 
patriotism was eagerly claimed by both Whigs and Tories, 
who vied with each other in praising and rewarding the 
actors who declaimed such patriotic sentiments. 

In the years 1713 and 1714 Addison withdrew somewhat 
from party struggles, beginning a book which he was 
never to finish on the Evidences of Christianity^ and 
adding another volume to The Spectator. On the ac- 
cession of George I. he was given a position under the 
government, and after a brief service as secretary of 
the lord justice, was appointed once more chief secretary 
of the lord lieutenant of Ireland. While here he prob- 
ably wrote The Drummer, a play acted in 1715 and long 



XXX INTRODUCTION 

attributed to Steele. In the same year he came to the 
rescue of the government, harassed by the rising in behalf 
of the Pretender, as the supporter, in The Freeholder, of 
constitutional liberty. The social and political philosophy 
of the Revolution of 1688 and of The Spectator are nowhere 
more clearly expressed than in the first number of The 
Freeholder. " At the same time " he says " that I de- 
clare I am a Free-holder, I do not exclude myself from any 
other Title. A Free-holder may be either a Voter, or a 
Kniglit of the Shire ; a Wit, or a Fox-hunter ; a Scholar, 
or a Soldier ; an Alderman, or a Courtier ; a Patriot, or a 
Stock-jobber. But I choose to be distinguished by this 
D'^nomination, as the Free-holder is the Basis of all other 
Titles. Dignities may be grafted upon it ; but this is the 
substantial Stock, that conveys to them their Life, Taste, 
and Beauty ; and without which they are Blossoms, that 
would fall away with every Shake of Wind.'' On this 
basis Addison works out his philosophy of government in 
the fifty-five papers of The Freeholder, giving us essays on 
government in general modified by distinctively English 
ideas, and thus well representing '' the Complexion of the 
Times in which they were written.'' 

Almost immediately after the publication of Tlie Free- 
holder, Addison was made one of the commissioners for 
trade and colonies, and soon afterwards he married the 
Countess of Warwick, to whom according to common re- 
port he had for many years been attached. In 1717 he was 
appoi^^ted secretary of state, but after eleven months, prob- 
ably owing to ill-health, he resigned his office, with the 
evident intention of devoting himself to literature. Once 
more, however, the government demanded his help, and 
his answer, in The Old Whig, to Steele's opposition to the 
Peerage Bill, was the final cause of an estrangement be- 
tween the life-long friends, which lasted till Addison's 
death on the seventeenth of June, 1719. 



INTRODUCTION xxxi 

Addison's fortunes take us into the very neart of his 
age, but of Addison the man we know curiously little. 
The anecdotes and reports about his private life are sin- 
gularly untrustworthy. We are told that he drank to 
excess and that his marriage was unhappy ; but the most 
competent testimony flatly contradicts these statements. 
In an age when the quarrels of men of letters were aggra- 
vated by the quarrels of party there was more than the 
usual likelihood of prejudice and misrepresentation. In 
some of these quarrels Addison was deeply involved, and, 
though their causes are but imperfectly understood, the 
resulting acrimony has done much to obscure our knowl- 
edge of his real character. The attack of Pope, whose 
venomed lines ^ live in the memory of all who have 
heard of Addison, was the bitterest of these. Yet, 

^ Peace to all such ! but were there one wliose fires 
True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires ; 
Blest with each talent and each art to please, 
And born to write, converse, and live with ease : 
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, 
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne, 
View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, 
And hate for arts that caused himself to rise ; 
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, 
And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer ; 
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, 
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike ; 
Alike reserved to blame, or to commend, 
A timorous foe, and a suspicious friend ; 
Dreading e'en fools, by flatterers besieg'd, 
And so obliging, that he ne'er obliged ; 
Like Cato, give his little senate laws. 
And sit attentive to his own applause ; 
While wits and Templars every sentence raise, 
And wonder with a foolish face of praise — 
Who but must kiugh, if such a man there be ? 
Who would not weep, if Atticus were he ? 

Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, lines 193-214. 



xxxii INTRODUCTION 

after all, it is in his own character that the chief obstacle 
to knowing him lies. Shy, reserved, never fully him- 
self save in the society of a chosen few, he has left the 
)rd of his personality only in his works. Pope and 
Swift, the only men of his generation who could be 
compared with him, have bared their souls to our knowl- 
edge and, though the mystery of human nature still eludes 
us, we know them as we know our neighbors and ourselves. 
Of direct self-revelation Addison gives us little or nothing. 
( Observer and humorist, he treats himself lightly, if he 
Vtpuches on himself at all. It is his art to show us the 
varied and many-sided life of his time, to shed on its 
pathos and meanness and vulgarity the light of a kindly 
and irradiating humor. And so it is that by understand- 
ing his work we best come to understand the man, who, 
reserved and unapproachable in his private life, revealed 
in his writings the whole compass of his soul. 



RICHARD STEELE. 

Of the family of Richard Steele and of the circum- 
stances of his early life we know comparatively little. 
The date of his birth was long uncertain, and only by the 
careful sifting of seemingly contradictory facts has it been 
fixed as the twelfth of March, 1672. Steele tells us himself 
that he was " an Englishman born in the city of Dublin," 
but we know nothing of his mother, and of his father no 
more than that he was an attorney, and died when Steele was 
less than five years old. It is characteristic that Steele tells 
us the effect produced on him by the circumstances of his 
childhood rather than the facts themselves. In a number 
of The Tatler, written on a day dedicated '^ to the Memory 
of such in another Life as I much delighted in when liv- 
ing," Steele tells us that his father's death caused him the 




RICHARD STEELE. 
After the painting by J. Richardson. 



INTRODUCTION xxxiii 

first sense of sorrow he ever knew. The picture of his 
mother, ^' a very beautiful Woman of a noble Spirit, keep- 
ing a Dignity in her Grief amidst all the Wilclness of her 
Transport,'*' is perhaps touched by the idealization of the 
memories of childhood, but we may well believe that the 
atmosphere of sorrow in which he lived unduly stimulated 
and developed his natural sensibility. His own judgment 
of its influence is characteristic and interesting. Living 
in the midst of a grief that he did not understand, he im- 
bibed, he says, ^' Commiseration, Eemorse, and an un- 
manly Gentleness of Mind, which has since insnared me 
into Ten Thousand Calamities, and from whence I can 
reap no Advantage, except it be, that in such an Humour 
as I am now in, I can the better indulge myself in the 
Softnesses of Humanity, and enjoy that sweet Anxiety 
which arises from the Memory of past Afflictions." 

Steele's mother did not long survive his father, and the 
child fell to the charge of his uncle, Henry Gascoigne, 
private secretary and confidential adviser to the Duke of 
Ormond. This uncle was a faithful guardian, and Steele's 
letters to him written from the Charterhouse and Oxford 
indicate the kindliest of relations between him and his 
ward. In 1684, probably on the recommendation of the 
Duke of Ormond, then one of the governors of the Charter- 
house, Steele was nominated to the school. The most 
significant event of his life there was the beginning of his 
friendship with Addison, who entered the Charterhouse 
as a private pupil in 1686. The fatherless Steele visited 
his friend in the Lichfield deanery during his vacations, 
and perhaps there found the ideal of that domestic purity 
and happiness of which he was so strenuous an upholder. 
That his work was as fruitful as his play we may infer 
from his fair classical scholarship and from his creditable 
record at Christ Church, to which in 1689 he was elected 
scholar. A letter to his uncle dated May 14, 1690, concern- 



xxxiv INTRODUCTION 

ing the getting of a scholarship, or '^ studentship," says 
that he is satisfied he stands fair in the favor of the dean, 
and that he has been highly recommended by Dr. Ellis, 
the '^ Ever-Honour'd Tutor/' of whom he later speaks. 
The studentship was not obtained, but it was probably 
through his uncle's influence with his great friends that 
Steele was given the postmastership of Merton. Beyond 
this piece of seventeenth century university politics there 
are few records of Steele's academic career. His friend- 
ship with Addison undoubtedly continued, though our 
knowledge of it rests wholly on Steele's later statement. 
There is also what Mr. Dobson calls a *^ scant chronicle of 
his academic life " to the effect that another friend, Mr. 
Parker of Merton, condemned a comedy written by him to 
the flames. The best authenticated and the pleasantest 
record of his Oxford life is the much quoted statement 
that when he left the university he took with him the 
love of the whole society, 

While Steele and Addison were living in the academic 
seclusion of Oxford the country was stirred to the depths 
by war. It was therefore natural that Steele, active in 
temperament and heartily in sympathy with revolutionary 
principles, should respond to the call to arms. The 
details of his entering the army and of his early life in it 
are unknown. But the period of our ignorance is brief. 
In 1694 his name still appears in the college records. In 
March, 1695, he wrote The Procession, whose title-page tells 
us that its author was a gentleman of the army. This 
elegy, which could do little for Steele's literary fame, seems 
to have advanced his temporal interests ; Lord Cutts, to 
whom it was dedicated, at once became his friend, before 
the end of the year obtaining for him a commission in the 
Coldstream Guards and soon after making him his con- 
fidential secretary. Besides this moderate success in his 
profession we find that Steele was a frequenter of AVill's 



INTRODUCTION XXXY 

Coffee-house and already prominent among the wits of the 
town. 

Even in these years when politics, literature, and society 
must have absorbed the great part of his energy, Steele's 
moral bent clearly showed itself. Its first noteworthy mani- 
festation was the publication of a much derided, little read 
book, The Christian Hero. He clearly stated his motive 
for writing it in tlie famous Apology for Himself and His 
Writings. Exposed to the irregularities of a soldier's life, 
and feeling himself unable to live up to his virtuous resolu- 
tions, "\\Q writ, for his own private Use, a little Book 
called The Christian Hero, with a Design principally to 
fix upon his own Mind a strong Impression of Virtue and 
Keligion, in Opposition to a stronger Propensity towards 
unwarrantable Pleasures." But the writing of the book 
was not enough, and he therefore published it *Mn hopes 
that a standing Testimony against himself, and the Eyes 
of the World (that is to say of his Acquaintance) upon 
him in a new Light, might curb his Desires, and make him 
ashamed of understanding and seeming to feel what was 
Virtuous, and living so quite contrary a Life." 

With this little book of Steele's, now forgotten and de- 
servedly forgotten, we see coming to the front that spirit 
of practical religion which was the inspiration of the 
best men of the age of Anne. But Steele's champion- 
ship of so good a cause did little more at the time than 
make him ridiculous in the eyes of his companions, who, 
not unnaturally, soon came to reckon as a '^ disagreeable 
Fellow " the professed preacher whom they had before in 
Steele's modest phrase regarded as ^' no undelightful 
Companion." The worldly wisdom with which he so often 
acted is curiously shown in his next literary venture. 
The Funeral or Grief a la Mode, a comedy written with 
the double purpose of making virtue attractive and re- 
trieving his reputation as a wit. In this attempt after a 



xxxvi INTRODUCTION 

purer drama than the licentious Restoration plays, Steele 
was at one with the best sentiment of his time. Jeremy 
Collier's 81iort Vieio of the Immorality and Profanity of the 
English Stage had expressed the conviction of the better 
part of the community in its arraignment of the theatre as 
a chief means of public corruption. Even the offending 
dramatists admitted the truth of his indictment ; Dryden 
publicly acknowledged the error of his ways, and a young 
writer of Steele's moral earnestness was inevitably borne 
along with the current setting toward reform. His later 
comedies, The Lying Lover (1703) and The Tender Hus- 
land (1705) are so weighted with sentiment and instruc- 
tion that they fail as plays, but The Fimeraly in spite of its 
direct moral purpose, shows Steele's power as an observer 
and critic of the social life of his day. It had the fortune 
of a successful presentation, while its two successors were 
played but six nights each. It is worth noticing that 
The Tender Husband received, according to Steele, many 
applauded strokes from Addison, who also contributed a 
prologue to it. 

Between 1705 and 1722 Steele wrote no plays. There 
were many reasons why he could not at that time devote 
himself to the drama. One of the popular wits of the day 
and known as an author of repute, he was yet deeply em- 
barrassed in his financial affairs. His marriage in 1705 to 
Margaret Ford Stretch, whether a marriage of love or 
of ambition, widened his financial outlook, while involving 
him in endless entanglements and disappointments. The 
year after his marriage he left the army, and soon after 
his wife died. Within a twelvemonth he had married 
Mary Scurlock, a young woman of much apparent 
charm and of fair expectations. Of her character we know 
little. She seems to have been a woman of noble nature 
and impulses, though not without the unreasonableness and 
caprice of the spoiled beauty. At all events, Steele's 



INTRODUCTION xxxvii 

devotion knew no check ; and the letters to his " Dear 
Prue/' begun in the days of their courtship and continued 
till Mrs. Steele's death, prove not only his fidelity through 
good and evil days, but the essential kindliness and 
lovableness of his often erring nature. 

In the various and absorbing activities that filled Steele's 
life from 1705 to 1707 there stands out one fact of great busi- 
ness significance. In 1707 Steele obtained a government 
position as gazetteer with a salary of £300 a year. Tlie 
editor of TJie Gazette had the most thankless of tasks. As 
the official organ of the government the paper had to be 
kept '^ very innocent and very insipid," yet, however in- 
nocuous, it failed to please a portion of its readers. The 
chief importance of Steele's new work was the turn it 
gave to his literary labors. With the example of such jour- 
nals as Defoe's Revieiu and Dunton's Athenian Mercury y 
he quickly saw the advantage of his position for the edit- 
ing of an independent newspaper. It was thus that The 
Tatler came into existence. Even in its early numbers, as 
Mr. Dobson has shown by an analysis of its table of con- 
tents, it laid down the programme for the essay-periodical 
into which it later developed and Avhich was best rep- 
resented by The Spectator. Steele's character and experi- 
ence inevitably made him the pioneer in this new depar- 
ture of journalism. The embarrassment of his finances 
urged him to undertake so promising a financial venture ; 
his experience as a man of the world gave his work the 
polite tone that assured popularity ; his kindly humanity 
brought him into touch with all sorts and conditions' of 
the men of his day. The range of his interests, the 
richness of his subject-matter, show conclusively how 
various was his sympathy, and how constantly it was 
directed toward the improvement of the age in which he 
lived. 

Steele's work in The Tatler and Tlie Spectator marks 



xxxviii INTRODUCTION 

the climax of his greatness as a man of letters. Hereafter 
his activity knew no abatement^ but it was directed almost 
wholly toward affairs of state. The political interests 
that had colored his papers in The TatleVy and perhaps 
led to its discontinuance, were scarcely held in check 
during the years when he worked for The Spectator , and 
no sooner had it ceased than ■ he appeared under the 
character of The Guardian^ a paper in which politics 
bore an important part. But the possibilities of The 
Guardian could not satisfy Steele's political ardor. With 
the failing health of Queen Anne, party spirit ran higher 
and higher, and even the calmer of the Whigs believed 
the Protestant succession and constitutional government 
in grave peril. Steele, who had in 1710 lost his gazetteer- 
ship and been appointed commissioner of stamps, re- 
signed tlie latter position in 1713, and at the same time 
gave up his pension as Prince George's gentleman-in- 
waiting, which position he had held since 1706. Freed 
from dependence on the government, he entered Parlia- 
ment and edited such political journals as The English- 
man, wrote his famous pamphlet Ttie Crisis, and founded 
the semi-political Lover and Reader. Of the political 
pamphlets by far the most universally interesting is the 
one entitled Mr. Steele's Apologt/ for Hiinself and His 
Wintings : Occasioned hy His Expulsion from the House of 
Commons. The circumstances that called it forth demand- 
ed some account of his political career, but it states as well 
the purpose and scope of his life-work and is perhaps the 
most valuable of his autobiographical writings. 

The landing of George I., with its practical solution of 
the unsettled political questions, turned the tide of Steele's 
fortunes. Restored to power with his party and again 
elected to Parliament, he at the same time received the 
more satisfactory and substantial favor of being made, on 
the petition of its managers, one of the patentees of Drury 



INTRODUCTION XXXix 

Lane Theatre. This office was doubly grateful to Steele, 
as given in recognition of his earlier services to the stage 
and as assuring him an income of from £700 to £1000. 

The closing years of Steele's life were comparatively 
uneventful. In 1716 he acted as commissioner of for- 
feited estates for Scotland, but the accounts of his trip 
are on the whole meagre.. He issued several short-lived 
successors of the journals of his greater age — Town-Talk, 
Tea-TaMe, and Chit-Cliat — and in 1716 published Ad- 
dison's comedy of The Drummer, long attributed to 
Steele himself. In 1718 Lady Steele died, and in 1722 
was produced his last play, llie Conscious Lovers, which 
was successful enough to encourage Steele to work once 
more for the stage. His health was, however, failing, and 
the few remaining years of his life were spent in retire- 
ment. It is pleasant to know that, though his money 
affairs still dragged on their obscure and involved history, 
Steele probably died free of debt and of the most harass- 
ing financial embarrassments. 

Steele's character has suffered greatly at the hands of his 
biographers. His own modesty in speaking of his relations 
with Addison has given occasion for the unfavorable con- 
trasts of Macaulay and for Thackeray's pitying treatment 
of '' poor Dick Steele. "" Yet in spite of the wrongs done 
by friend and foe, Steele lives ip literary history as one of 
the most vivid and engaging of its personalities. He was 
the man of affairs rather than the man of letters. In 
his literary ventures he showed himself the moralist or 
editor rather than the literary artist. It is for this 
reason that our interest centres in him rather than in his 
works, and that he is, after Swift, the best known and 
most fascinating of the individualities of his time. There 
is, indeed, as in the case of his greater contemporary, 
much to condemn. Impulsive and tender-hearted, he 
lacks the virtues of the stoic, and leads the life of his 



Xl INTRODUCTION 

choice after a precarious and somewhat undignified 
fashion. Yet it is well to remember that even in a 
material way his life was not a failure, while many of his 
moral and intellectual qualities are the sure passport to 
our love and admiration. He was severe in self-judgment 
and kindly to the faults of others, strenuous in pursuit of 
high moral ideals, urbane and courteous in intercourse 
with his fellows. To these virtues he added a vigor of 
initiative that made him a power in his own generation. 
His influence on his time can hardly be expressed better 
than in the words of his contemporary and friend, John 
Gay, who, in The Present State of Wit, gives the follow- 
ing account of Steele's work in Tlie Tatler : 

^' It is incredible to conceive the effect his writings 
have had upon the Town ; how many thousand follies 
they have either quite banished or given a very great 
check to ! how much countenance they have added to 
Virtue and Religion ! how many people they have rendered 
happy, by showing them it was their own fault if they 
were not so ! and, lastly, how entirely they have convinced 
our young fops and young fellows of the value and ad- 
vantages of Learning ! 

^' He has indeed rescued it out of the hands of pedants, 
and fools, and discovered the true method of making it 
amiable and lovely to all mankind. In the dress he gives 
it, it is a most welcome guest at tea-tables and assemblies, 
and is relished and caressed by the merchants on the 
Change. Accordingly there is not a Lady at Court, nor 
a Banker in Lombard Street, who is not verily persuaded 
that Captain Steele is the greatest Scholar and best Casuist 
of any man in England. 

^' Lastly, his writings have set all our Wits and Men 
of Letters on a new way of Thinking, of which they had 
little or no notion before : and, although we cannot say 
that any of them have come up to the beauties of the 



INTRODUCTION xli 

original, I think we may venture to affirm, that every one 
of them writes and thinks much more justly than they did 
some time since." 



EUSTACE BUDGELL. 

Eustace Budgell, the son of a clergyman and a first 
cousin of Addison, was born in 1686. He attended 
Trinity College, Oxford, entered the Inner Temj^le, and 
was called to the bar, but, probably through the influence 
of Addison, turned from his profession to literature and 
politics. When secretary in Ireland, Addison made him a 
clerk in his office, and in 1717 secured for him the place 
of accountant-general. He was one of the writers for 
The Spectator J contributing in all thirty-seven papers to 
it. He is usually regarded as a successful imitator of 
Addison, but Boswell repeats a current rumor when he 
says that Addison ^^ mended so much [of Budgell's papers] 
that they were almost his own." 

Budgell's success was of short duration. He lost his 
position in Ireland through a quarrel with the lord 
lieutenant. Twenty thousand pounds, the greater part 
of his fortune, vanished in the South Sea Bubble, and 
he spent £5000 more in a futile attempt to enter Par- 
liament. He not only fell into extreme misery, but was 
accused of doubtful financial transactions, and especially 
of forging a will of Matthew Tindal in his own favor. 
Finally he committed suicide in 1637. Of his writings, 
besides his contributions to The Spectator and to The Bee 
(1733-35), the most important were the translation of The 
Characters of Theophrastus (1714) and Some Memoirs of 
the Life and Character of the Late Earl of Orrery and the 
Family of the Boyles, 



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SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 



I. THE SPECTATOR. 
No. 1.] Thursday, March 1, 1711. [Addison. 

Nonfumum ex fidgore, sed ex fumo dare lucein 
Cogitat, ut speciosa dehinc miracida prornat. 

Horace, Ars Poetica, 143. 

I HAVE observed that a reader seldom peruses a book 
with pleasure 'till he knows whether the writer of it be a 
black or a fair man, of a mild or choleric disposition, 
married or a bachelor, with other particulars of the like 
5 nature, that conduce very much to the right understand- 
ing of an author. To gratify this curiosity, which is so 
natural to a reader, I design this paper and my next as 
prefatory discourses to my following writings, and shall 
give some account in them of the several persons that are 

10 engaged in this work. As the chief trouble of compiling, 
digesting, and correcting, will fall to my share, I must 
do myself the justice to open the work with my own 
history. 

I was born to a small hereditary estate, which, accord- 

15ing to the tradition of the village where it lies, was 
bounded by the same hedges and ditches in William the 
Conqueror's time that it is at present, and has been de- 
livered down from father to son whole and entire, with- 
out the loss or acquisition of a single field or meadow, 

20 during the space of six hundred years. There runs a 



2 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 1. 

story in the family, that, before my birth, my mother 
dreamt that she was delivered of a judge. Whether this 
might proceed from a lawsuit which was then depending 
in the family, or my father's being a justice of the peace, 

25 I cannot determine ; for I am not so vain as to think it 
presaged any dignity that I should arrive at in my future 
life, though that was the interpretation which the neigh- 
bourhood put upon it. The gravity of my behaviour at 
my very first appearance in the world and during my baby- 

30 hood, seemed to favour my mother's dream : for, as she 
has often told me, I threw aAvay my rattle before I was 
two months old, and would not make use of my coral till 
they had taken away the bells from it. 

As for the rest of my infancy, there being nothing in 

35 it remarkable, I shall pass it over in silence. I find, that, 
during my nonage, I had the reputation of a very sullen 
youth, but was always a favourite of my schoolmaster, who 
used to say, that my parts were solid, and would wear 
well. I had not been long at the University, before I 

40 distinguished myself by a most profound silence ; .for, 
during the space of eight years, excepting in the public 
exercises of the college, I scarce uttered the quantity of 
an hundred words ; and indeed do not remember that I 
ever spoke three sentences together in my v/hole life. 

45 Whilst I was in this learned body, I applied myself with 
so much diligence to my studies, that there are very few 
celebrated books, either in the learned or the modern 
tongues, which I am not acquainted with. 

Upon the death of my father, I was resolved to travel 

50 into foreign countries, and therefore left the University 
with the character of an odd unaccountable fellow, that 
had a great deal of learning, if I would but show it. An 
insatiable thirst after knowledge carried me into all the 
countries of Europe in which there was anything new or 

55 strange to be seen ; nay, to such a degree was my curiosity^ 



No. 1.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 3 

raised, that having read the controversies of some great 
men concerning the antiquities of Egypt, I made a 
voyage to Grand Cairo, on purpose to take the measure 
of a pyramid ; and, as soon as I had set myself right in 

60 that particuhar, returned to my native country with great 
satisfaction. 

I have passed my latter years in this city, where I am 
frequently seen in most public places, though there are 
not above half a dozen of my select friends that know 

65 me ; of whom my next paper shall give a more particular 
account. There is no place of general resort wherein I 
do not often make my appearance ; sometimes I am seen 
thrusting my head into a round of politicians at Will's, 
and listening with great attention to the narratives that 

70 are made in those little circular audiences. Sometimes I 
smoke a pipe at Child's, and, while I seem attentive to 
nothing but The Postman, overhear the conversation of 
every table in the room. I appear on Sunday nights at 
St. James's coHee-house, and sometimes join the little 

75 committee of politics in the inner room, as one who 
comes there to hear and improve. My face is likewise 
very well known at the Grecian, the Cocoa Tree, and in 
the theatres both of Drury Lane and the Hay Market. I 
have been taken for a merchant upon the Exchange for 

80 above these ten years, and sometimes pass for a Jew in 

the assembly of stock-jobbers at Jonathan's. In short, 

wherever I see a cluster of people, I always mix with 

them, though I never open my lips but in my own club. 

Thus I live in the world rather as a spectator of man- 

85 kind than as one of the species ; by which means I have 
made myself a speculative statesman, soldier, merchant, 
and artisan, without ever meddling with any practical part 
in life. I am very well versed in the theory of an husband 
or a father, and can discern the errors in the economy, 

SObusiness^ and diversion of others, better than those who 



4 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 1. 

are engaged in them ; as standers-by discover blots, which 
are apt to escape those who are in the game. I never es- 
poused any party with violence, and am resolved to ob- 
serve an exact neutrality between the AVhigs and Tories, 
95 unless I shall be forced to declare myself by the hostilities 
of either side. In short, I have acted in all the parts of 
my life as a looker-on, which is the character I intend to 
preserve in this paper. 

I have given the reader just so much of my history and 

100 character, as to let him see I am not altogether unqualified 
for the business I have undertaken. As for other partic- 
ulars in my life and adventures, I shall insert them in 
following papers, as I shall see occasion. In the mean 
time, when I consider how much I have seen, read, and 

105 heard, I begin to blame my own taciturnity ; and since 
I have neither time nor inclination to communicate the 
fulness of my heart in speech, I am resolved to do it in 
writing, and to print myself out, if possible, before I die. 
I have been often told by my friends, that it is pity so 

110 many useful discoveries which I have made should be in 
the possession of a silent man. For this reason, there- 
fore, I shall publish a sheet full of thoi^hts every morn- 
ing, for the benefit of my contemporaries ; and if I can 
any way contribute to the diversion or improvement of 

115 the country in which I live, I shall leave it when I am 
summoned out of it, with the secret satisfaction of think- 
ing that I have not lived in vain. 

There are three very material points which I have not 
spoken to in this paper, and which, for several important 

120 reasons, I must keep to myself, at least for some time : 
I mean, an account of my name, my age, and my lodg- 
ings. I must confess I would gratify my reader in any- 
thing that is reasonable ; but as for these three partic- 
ulars, though I am sensible they might tend very much 

125 to the embellishment of my paper, I cannot yet come to 



No. 1.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 5 

a resolution of communicating them to the i3ublic. They 
would indeed draw me out of that obscurity which I have 
enjoyed for many years, and expose me in public places 
to several salutes and civilities, which have been always 

130 very disagreeable to me; for the greatest pain I can 
suffer is the being talked to, and being stared at. It is 
for this reason likewise that I keep my complexion and 
dress as very great secrets ; though it is not impossible 
but I may make discoveries of both in the progress of 

135 the work I have undertaken. 

After having been thus particular upon myself, I shall 
in to-morrow's paper give an account of those gentlemen 
who are concerned with me in this work ; for, as I have 
before intimated, a plan of it is laid and concerted (as all 

140 other matters of importance are) in a club. However, as 
my friends have engaged me to stand in the front, those 
who have a mind to correspond with me may direct their 
letters to Tlie Spectator, at Mr. Buckley's in Little Britain. 
For I must further acquaint the reader, that though our 

145 club meets only on Tuesdays and Thursdays, we have ap- 
pointed a committee to sit every night, for the inspection 
of all such papers as may contribute to the advancement 
of the public weal. 



Q SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 3. 



II. THE CLUB. 

No. 2.] Friday, March 2, 1711. [Steele. 

— Ast alii sex, 
Et plures, uno conclamant ore. 

Juvenal, Satire vii. 167. 

The first of our society is a gentleman of Worcester- 
shire, of ancient descent, a baronet, his name Sir Roger 
de Coverley. His great-grandfather was inventor of that 
famous country dance which is called after him. All 

5 who know that shire are very well acquainted with the 
parts and merits of Sir Roger. He is a gentleman that 
is very singular in his behaviour, but his singularities 
proceed from his good sense, and are contradictions to 
the manners of the world only as he thinks the world 

10 is in the wTong. However, this humour creates him no 
enemies, for he does nothing with sourness or obstinacy ; 
and his being unconfined to modes and forms makes him 
but the readier and more capable to please and oblige all 
who know him. When he is in town, he lives in Soho 

15 Square. It is said he keeps himself a bachelor by reason 
he was crossed in love by a perverse beautiful widow of 
the next county to him. Before this disappointment. 
Sir Roger was what you call a fine gentleman, had often 
supped with my Lord Rochester and Sir George Etherege, 

20 fought a duel upon his first coming to town, and kicked 
Bully Dawson in a public coffee-house for calling him 
*' youngster." But being ill-used by the above mentioned 
widow, he was very serious for a year and a half ; and 
though, his temper being naturally jovial, he at last got' 

25 over it, he grew careless of himself, and never dressed 
afterwards. He continues to wear a coat and doublet of 



No. 2.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY ^ 

the same cut that were in fashion at the time of his re- 
pulse, which, in his merry humours, he tells us, has been 
in and out twelve times since he first wore it. He is now 

30 in his fifty-sixth year, cheerful, gay, and hearty ; keeps 
a good house in both town and counti*y ; a great lover of 
mankind ; but there is such a mirthful cast in his beha- 
viour, that he is rather beloved than esteemed. His ten- 
ants grow rich, his servants look satisfied, all the young 

35 women profess love to him, and the young men are glad 
of his company : when he comes into the house he calls 
the servants by their names, and talks all the way upstairs 
to a visit. I must not omit that Sir Eoger is a justice 
of the quorum ; that he fills the chair at a quarter-session 

40 with great abilities, and, three months ago, gained univer- 
sal applause by explaining a passage in the Game Act. 
The gentleman next in esteem and authority among us 
is another bachelor, who is a member of the Inner Temple, 
a man of great probity, wit, and understanding ; but he 

45 has chosen his place of residence rather to obey the 
direction of an old humoursome father, than in pursuit of 
his own inclinations. He was placed there to study the 
laws of the land, and is the most learned of any of the 
house in those of the stage. Aristotle and Longinus are 

50 much better understood by him than Littleton or Coke. 
The father sends up every post questions relating to 
marriage-articles, leases, and tenures, in the neighbour- 
hood ; all which questions he agrees with an attorney to 
answer and take care of in the lump. He is studying the 

55 passions themselves, when he should be inquiring into the 
debates among men which arise from them. He knows 
the argument of each of the orations of Demosthenes and 
Tully, but not one case in the reports of our own courts. 
No one ever took him for a fool, but none, except his 

60 intimate friends, know he has a great deal of wit. This 
turn makes him at once both disinterested and agreeable : 



8 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY No. 2.] 

as few of his thoughts are drawn from business, they are 
most of them fit for conversation. His taste of books is 
a little too just for the age he lives in ; he has read all, 

65 but approves of very few. His familiarity with the 
customs, manners, actions, and writings of the ancients 
makes him a very delicate observer of what occurs to him 
in the present world. He is an excellent critic, and the 
time of the play is his hour of business ; exactly at five he 

70 passes through New Inn, crosses through Russell Court, 
and takes a turn at Will's till the play begins ; he has his 
shoes rubbed and his periwig powdered at the barber's as 
you go into the Rose. It is for the good of the audience 
when he is at a play, for the actors have an ambition to 

75 please him. 

The person of next consideration is Sir Andrew Free- 
port, a merchant of great eminence in the city of London, 
a person of indefatigable industry, strong reason, and great 
experience. His notions of trade are noble and generous, 

80 and (as every rich man has usually some sly way of jest- 
ing, which would make no great figure were he not a rich 
man) he calls the sea the British Common. He is ac- 
quainted with commerce in all its jDarts, and will tell you 
that it is a stupid and barbarous way to extend dominion 

85 by arms ; for true power is to be got by arts and in- 
dustry. He will often argue that if this part of our trade 
were well cultivated, we should gain from one nation ; 
and if another, from another. I have heard him jorove 
that diligence makes more lasting acquisitions than valour, 

90 and that sloth has ruined more nations than the sword. 
He abounds in several frugal maxims, amongst which the 
greatest favourite is, '^ A penny saved is a penny got." A 
general trader of good sense is pleasanter company than 
a general scholar ; and Sir Andrew having a natural un-^ 

95 affected eloquence, the perspicuity of his discourse gives 
the same pleasure that wit would in another man. He 



No. 2.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 9 

has made his fortunes himself, and says that England 
may be richer than other kingdoms by as plain methods 
as he himself is richer than other men ; though at the 

100 same time I can say this of him, that there is not a point 
in the compass but blows home a ship in which he is 
an owner. 

Xext to Sir Andrew in the club-room sits Captain 
Sentry, a gentleman of great courage, good understand- 

105 ing, but invincible modesty. He is one of those that 
deserve very well, but are very awkward at putting their 
talents within the observation of such as should take 
notice of them. He was some years a captain, and be- 
haved himself with great gallantry in several engagements 

110 and at several sieges ; but having a small estate of his 
own, and being next heir to Sir Roger, he has quitted a 
way of life in which no man can rise suitably to his 
merit Avho is not something of a courtier as well as a 
soldier. I have heard him often lament that in a pro- 

115 fession where merit is placed in so conspicuous a view, 
impudence should get the better of modesty. When 
he has talked to this purpose I never heard him make 
a sour expression, but frankly confess that he left the 
world because he was not fit for it. A strict honesty and 

120 an even, regular behaviour are in themselves obstacles to 
him that must press through crowds, who endeavour at 
the same end with himself, — the favour of a commander. 
He will, however, in this way of talk excuse generals for 
not disposing according to men's desert, or inquiring into 

125 it : ^^for," says he, '' that great man who has a mind to 
help me, has as many to break through to come at me, 
as I have to come at him ; " therefore he will conclude, 
that the man who would make a figure, especially in a 
military way, must get over all false modesty, and assist 

130 his patron against the importunity of other pretenders 
by a proper assurance in his own vindication. He says 



10 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 2. 

it is a civil cowardice to be backward in asserting what 
you ought to expect, as it is a military fear to be slow in 
attacking when it is your duty. AVitli this candour does 

135 the gentleman speak of himself and others. The same 
frankness runs through all his conversation. The military 
part of his life has furnished him with many adventures, 
in the relation of which he is very agreeable to the com- 
pany ; for he is never overbearing, though accustomed 

140 to command men in tlie utmost degree below him ; nor 
ever too obsequious from a habit of obeying men highly 
above him. 

But that our society may not appear a set of humourists 
unacquainted with the gallantries and pleasures of the 

145 age, we have among us the gallant Will Honeycomb, a 
gentleman who according to his years should be in the 
decline of his life, but having ever been very careful of 
his person, and always had a very easy fortune, time has 
made but very little impression either by wrinkles on his 

150 forehead, or traces in his brain. His person is well turned, 
and of good height. He is very ready at that sort of dis- 
course with which men usually entertain women. He 
has all his life dressed very well, and remembers habits 
as others do men. He can smile when one speaks to him, 

155 and laughs easily. He knows the history of every mode, 
and can inform you from whom our wives and daughters 
had this manner of curling their hair, that way of 
placing their hoods, or that sort of petticoat, and 
whose vanity to show her foot made that part of the dress 

160 so short in such a year. In a word, all his conversation 
and knowledge has been in the female world. As other 
men of his age will take notice to you what such a min- 
ister said upon such and such an occasion, he will tell 
you when the Duke of Monmouth danced at court such 

165 a woman was then smitten, another was taken with him 
at the head of his troop in tlie Park. In all these ii»- 



No. 2.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY H 

portant relations, he has ever about the same time re- 
ceived a kind glance or a blow of a fan from some 
celebrated beauty, mother of the present Lord Such-a- 

170 one. If you speak of a young commoner that said a 
lively thing in the House, he starts up : ^^He has good 
blood in his veins ; Tom Mirabell begot him ; the rogue 
cheated me in that affair ; that young fellow's mother 
used me more like a dog than any woman I ever made 

175 advances to." This way of talking of his very much en- 
livens the conversation among us of a more sedate turn ; 
and I find there is not one of the company, but myself, 
who rarely speak at all, but speaks of him as of that sort 
of man who is usually called a well-bred fine gentleman. 

180 To conclude his character, where women are not con- 
cerned, he is an honest worthy man. 

I cannot tell whether I am to account him whom I am 
next to sj^eak of as one of our company, for he visits us 
but seldom ; but when he does, it adds to every man else 

185 a new enjoyment of himself. He is a clergyman, a very 
philosophic man, of general learning, great sanctity of 
life, and the most exact good breeding. He has the mis- 
fortune to be of a very weak constitution, and consequently 
cannot accept of such cares and business as preferments 

190 in his function would oblige him to; he is therefore 
among divines what a chamber-counsellor is among law- 
yers. The probity of his mind, and the integrity of his 
life, create him followers, as being eloquent or loud 
advances others. He seldom introduces the subject he 

195 speaks upon; but we are so far gone in years, that he 
observes, when he is among us, an earnestness to have 
him fall on some divine topic, which he always treats 
with much authority, as one who has no interests in 
this world, as one who is hastening to the object of all 

200 his wishes, and conceives hope from his decays and 
infirmities. These are my ordinary companions. 



12 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 6. 



* III. SIR ROGER ON MEN OF FINE PARTS. 
No. 6.] Wednesday, March 7, 1711. [Steele. 

Credebant hoc grande nefas, et morte piandum, 
Sijuvenis vetulo non assurrexerat — 

Juvenal, Satire xiii. 54. 

I KKOW no evil under the sun so great as the abuse of 
the understanding, and yet there is no one vice more 
common. It has diffused itself through both sexes, and 
all qualities of mankind ; and there is hardly that person 
5 to be found, Avho is not more concerned for the reputa- 
tion of wit and sense, than honesty and virtue. But this 
unhappy affectation of being wise rather than honest, 
witty than good-natured, is the source of most of the ill 
habits of life. Such false impressions are owing to the 

10 abandoned writings of men of wit, and the awkward 
imitation of the rest of mankind. 

For this reason Sir Roger was saying last night, that 
he was of opinion that none but men of fine parts deserve 
to be hanged. The reflections of such men are so delicate 

15 upon all occurrences which they are concerned in, that 
they should be exposed to more than ordinary infamy and 
punisliment, for offending against such quick admoni- 
tions as tlieir own souls give them, and blunting the fine 
edge of their minds in such a manner, that they are no 

20 more shocked at vice and folly than men of slower capaci- 
ties. There is no greater monster in being than a very 
ill man of great parts : he lives like a man in a palsy, 
with one side of him dead. While perhaps he enjoys the 
satisfaction of luxury, of wealth, of ambition, he has 



No. 6.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 13 

35 lost the taste of good-will, of friendship, of innocence. 
Scarecrow, the beggar, in Lincoln's-inn-fields, who dis- 
abled himself in his right leg, and asks alms all day to 
get himself a warm supper and a bed at night, is not 
half so despicable a wretch, as such a man of sense. The 

30 beggar has no relish above sensations ; he finds rest more 
agreeable than motion ; and while he has a warm fire and 
his doxy, never reflects that he deserves to be whipped. 
'' Every man who terminates his satisfaction and enjoy- 
ments within the supply of his own necessities and pas- 

35sions is," says Sir Roger, '' in my eye, as poor a rogue as 
Scarecrow. But," continued he, ^^for the loss of public 
and private virtue, we are beholden to your men of parts 
forsooth ; it is with them no matter what is done, so it is 
done with an air. But to me, who am so Avhimsical in a 

40 corrupt age as to act according to nature and reason, a 
selfish man, in the most shining circumstance and equi- 
page, appears in the same condition with the fellow above- 
mentioned, but more contemptible in proportion to what 
more he robs the public of, and enjoys above him. I lay 

45 it down therefore for a rule, that the whole man is to 
move together ; that every action of any importance is to 
have a prospect of public good ; and that the general 
tendency of our indifferent actions ought to be agreeable 
to the dictates of reason, of religion, of good-breeding ; 

50 without this, a man, as I have before hinted, is hopping 
instead of walking, he is not in his entire and proper 
motion." 

While the honest Knight was thus bewildering himself 
in good starts, I looked intentively upon him, which 

55 made him, T thought, collect his mind a little. ''What 
I aim at," says he, "is to represent that I am of opinion, 
to polish our understandings, and neglect our man- 
ners, is of all things the most inexcusable. Reason 
should govern passion, but instead of that, you see, it is 



14 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 6. 

60 often subservient to it; and, as unaccountable as one 
would think it, a wise man is not always a good man." 
This degeneracy is not only the guilt of particular per- 
sons, but also, at some times, of a whole people ; and 
perhaps it may ap^jear upon examination, that the most 

65 polite ages are the least virtuous. This may be attributed 
to the folly of admitting wit and learning as merit in them- 
selves, without considering the application of them. By 
tliis means it becomes a rule, not so much to regard what 
we do, as how we do it. But this false beauty will not pass 

70 upon men of honest minds and true taste. Sir Richard 
Blackmore says, with as much good sense as virtue, '^It 
is a mighty dishonour and shame to employ excellent 
faculties and abundance of wit, to humour and please men 
in their vices and follies. The great enemy of mankind, 

75 notwithstanding his wit and angelic faculties, is the most 
odious being in the whole creation." He goes on soon 
after to say, very generously, that he undertook the 
writing of his poem '^to rescue the Muses out of the 
hands of ravishers, to restore them to their sweet and 

80 chaste mansions, and to engage them in an employment 
suitable to their dignity." This certainly ought to be 
the purpose of every man who appears in public, and 
whoever does not proceed upon that foundation injures 
his country as fast as he succeeds in his studies. When 

85 modesty ceases to be the chief ornament of one sex, and 
integrity of the other, society is upon a wrong basis, and 
we shall be ever after without rules to guide our judg- 
ment in what is really becoming and ornamental. !N"ature 
and reason direct one thing, passion and humour another. 

90 To follow the dictates of the two latter is going into a 
road that is both endless and intricate ; when Ave pursue 
the other, our passage is delightful, and what we aim at 
easily attainable. 

I do not doubt but England is at present as polite, a 



No. 6.J SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 15 

95 nation as any in the world ; but any man who thinks can 
easily see, that the affectation of being gay and in fashion 
has very near eaten up our good sense and our religion. 
Is there anything so just as that mode and gallantry 
should be built upon exerting ourselves in what is proper 

100 and agreeable to the institutions of justice and piety 
among us ? And yet is there anything more common 
than that we run in perfect contradiction to them ? All 
which is supported by no other pretension than that it is 
done with what we call a good grace. 

105 Nothing ought to be held laudable or becoming, but 
what nature itself should prompt us to think so. Resj^ect 
to all kinds of superiors is founded methinks upon in- 
stinct ; and yet what is so ridiculous as age ? I make 
this abrupt transition to the mention of this vice, more 

110 than any other, in order to introduce a little story, which 
I think a pretty instance that the most polite age is in 
danger of being the most vicious. 

It happened at Athens, during a public representation 
of some play exhibited, in honour of the commonwealth, 

115 that an old gentleman came too late for a place suitable 
to his age and quality. Many of the young gentlemen, 
who observed the difficulty and confusion lie was in, 
made signs to him that they would accommodate him if 
lie came where they sat. The good man bustled through 

120 the crowd accordingly; but when he came to the seats 
to which he was invited, the jest was to sit close and ex- 
pose him, as he stood, out of countenance, to the whole 
audience. The frolic went round all the Athenian 
benches. But on those occasions there were also par- 

125ticular places assigned for foreigners. When the good 
man skulked towards the boxes appointed for the Lace- 
daemonians, that honest people, more virtuous than 
polite, rose up all to a man, and with the greatest re- 
spect received him among them. The Athenians being 



16 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 6. 

130 suddenly touched with a sense of the Spartan virtue and 
their own degeneracy, gave a thunder of applause ; and 
the old man cried out, '' The Athenians understand what 
is good, but the LacedaBmonians practise it/' 



No. 34.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 17 



IV. THE SPECTATOR AT HIS CLUB. 
No. 84.] Monday, April 9, 1711. [Addison. 

—parcit 
Cognatis maculis similis fera — 

Juvenal, Satire xv. 159. 

The club of wliicli I am a member is very lucliily com- 
posed of such persons as are engaged in different ways of 
life, and deputed as it were out of the most conspicuous 
classes of mankind : by this means I am furnished with 
5 the greatest variety of hints and materials, and know 
everything that passes in the different quarters and 
divisions, not only of this great city, but of the whole 
kingdom. My readers, too, have the satisfaction to find, 
that there is no rank or degree among them who have 

10 not their representative in this club, and that there is 
always somebody present who will take care of their 
respective interests, that nothing may be written or 
published to the prejudice or infringement of their 
just rights and privileges. 

15 I last night sat very late in company with this select 
body of friends, who entertained me with several re- 
marks which they and others had made upon these my 
speculations, as also with the various success, which 
they had met with among their several ranks and de- 

20grees of readers. AVill Honeycomb told me, in the soft- 
est manner he could, that there were some ladies (but 
for your comfort, says Will, they are not those of the 
most wit) that were offended at the liberties I had taken 
with the opera and the puppet-show ; that some of them 

2 



18 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 34. 

25 were likewise very much surprised, that I should think 
such serious points as the dress and equipage of persons 
of quality proper subjects for raillery. 

He was going on, when Sir Andrew Freeport took him 
up short, and told him, that the papers he hinted at had 

30 done great good in the city, and that all their wives and 
daughters were the better for them : and further added, 
that the whole city thought themselves very much obliged 
to me for declaring my generous intentions to scourge 
vice and folly as they appear in a multitude, without con- 

35 descending to be a publisher of particular intrigues and 
cuckoldoms. In short, says Sir Andrew, if you avoid that 
foolish beaten road of falling upon aldermen and citizens, 
and employ your pen upon the vanity and luxury of 
courts, your paj^er must needs be of general use. 

40 Upon this my friend the Templar told Sir Andrew, 
that he wondered to hear a man of his sense talk after 
that manner ; that the city had always been the province 
for satire ; and that the wits of King Charles's time jested 
upon nothing else during his whole reign. He then 

45 showed, by the examples of Horace, Juvenal, Boileau, 
and the best writers of every age, that the follies of the 
stage and court had never been accounted too sacred for 
ridicule, how great soever the persons might be that pa- 
tronized them. But after all, says he, I think your raillery 

50 has made too great an excursion, in attacking several 
persons of the inns of court ; and I do not believe you 
can show me any precedent for your behaviour in that 
particular. 

My good friend Sir Koger de Coverley, who had said 

55 nothing all this while, began his speech with a Pish ! and 
told us, that he wondered to see so many men of sense so 
very serious upon fooleries. "Let our good friend," 
says he, " attack every one that deserves it ; I would only 
advise you, Mr. Spectator," applying himself to me, "to 



No. 34.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 19 

60 take care how you meddle with country squires : they are 
the ornaments of the English nation ; men of good heads 
and sound bodies ! and let me tell you, some of them take 
it ill of you, that you mention fox hunters with so little 
respect." 

65 Captain Sentry spoke very sparingly on this occasion. 
AVliat he said was only to commend my prudence in not 
touching upon the army, and advised me to continue to 
act discreetly in that point. 

By this time I found every subject of my speculations 

70 was taken away from me, by one or other of the club ; 
and began to think to myself in the condition of the good 
man that had one wife who took a dislike to his gray hairs, 
and another to his black, till by their picking out what 
each of them had an aversion to, they left his head alto- 

75gether bald and naked. 

While I was thus musing with myself, my worthy friend 
the clergyman, who, very luckily for me, was at the club 
that night, undertook my cause. He told us, that he 
wondered any order of persons sliould think themselves 

80 too considerable to be advised : that it was not quality, 
but innocence, which exempted men frouL reproof : that 
vice and folly ought to be attacked wherever they could 
be met with, and especially when they were placed in 
high and conspicuous stations of life. He further added, 

85 tluit my paper would only serve to aggravate the pains 
of poverty, if it chiefly exposed those who are already de- 
pressed, and in some measure turned into ridicule, by 
the meanness of their conditions and circumstances. He 
afterwards proceeded to take notice of the great use this 

90 paper might be of to the public, by reprehending those 
vices which are too trivial for the chastisement of the law, 
and too fantastical for the cognisance of the pulpit. He 
then advised me to prosecute my undertaking with cheer- 
fulness, and assured me, that whoever might be dis- 



20 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 34. 

95 pleased with me, I should be approved by all those whose 
praises do honour to the persons on whom they are be- 
stowed. 

The whole club pays a particular deference to the dis- 
course of this gentleman, and are drawn into what he says, 

100 as much by the candid and ingenuous manner with which 
he delivers himself, as by the strength of argument and 
force of reason which he makes use of. Will Honeycomb 
immediately agreed that what he had said was right ; 
and that for his part, he would not insist upon the quarter 

105 which he had demanded for the ladies. Sir x\ndrew 
gave up the city with the same frankness. The Templar 
would not stand out, and was followed by Sir Roger 
and the Captain, who all agreed that I should be at 
liberty to carry the war into what quarter I pleased, 

110 provided I continued to combat with criminals in a body, 
and to assault the vice without hurting the person. 

This debate, which Avas held for the good of mankind, 
put me in mind of that which the Roman triumvirate 
were formerly engaged in, for their destruction. Every 

115 man at first stood hard for his friend, till they found 

that by this means they should spoil their proscription ; 

and at length, making a sacrifice of all their acquaintance 

and relations, furnished out a very decent execution. 

Having thus taken my resolution to march on boldly 

120 in the cause of virtue and good sense, and to annoy their 
adversaries in whatever degree or rank of men they may 
be found, I shall be deaf for the future to all the remon- 
strances that shall be made to me on this account. If 
Punch grow extravagant, I shall reprimand him very 

125 freely ; if the stage becomes a nursery of folly and im- 
pertinence, 1 shall not be afraid to animadvert upon it. 
In short, if I meet with anything in city, court, or country, 
that shocks modesty or good manners, I shall use my 
utmost endeavours to make an example of it. I must, 



No. 34.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 21 

130 however, intreat every particular person, who does me 
the honour to be a reader of this paper, never to think 
himself, or any one of his friends or enemies, aimed at 
in what is said ; for I promise him never to draw a faulty 
character which does not fit at least a thousand people, 

135 or to publish a single paper that is not written in the 
spirit of benevolence, and with a love to mankind. 



22 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 37 



V. A LADY'S LIBRARY. 

No. 37.] Thursday, April 12, ITIL [Addison. 

— Non ilia colo calathisve Minervcc 
Foemineas assueta manus. — 

Virgil, JEneid, vii. 805. 

Some months ago, my friend Sir Roger, being in the 
country, enclosed a letter to me, directed to a certain 
lady, whom I shall here call by tlie name of Leonora, 
and, as. it contained matters of consequence, desired me 
5 to deliver it to lier with my own hand. Accordingly! 
waited upon her ladyship pretty early in the morning, 
and was desired by her woman to walk into her lady's 
library, till such time as she was in a readiness to receive 
me. The very sound of a lady's library gave me a 

10 great curiosity to see it ; and, as it was some time before 
the lady came to me, I had an opportunity of turning over 
a great many of her books, whicli were ranged togethei in 
a very beautiful order. At the end of the folios (which 
were finely bound and gilt) were great jars of china 

15 placed one above another in a very noble jnece of archi- 
tecture. The quartos were separated from the octavos 
by a 2)ile of smaller vessels, which rose in a delightful 
pyramid. The octavos were bounded by tea-dishes of all 
shapes, colours, and sizes, which were so disposed on a 

20 wooden frame that they looked like one continued pillar 
indented with the finest strokes of sculpture, and stained 
with the greatest variety of dyes. That part of the 
library which was designed for the recej^tion of plays and 
pamphlets, and other loose papers, was enclosed in a kind 



No. 37.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 23 

25 of square, consisting of one of the prettiest grotesque 
works tluit ever I saw, and made up of scaramouebee, 
lions, monkeys, mandarins, trees, shells, and a thousand 
other odd figures in chinaware. In the midst of tlie 
room was a little japan table, with a quire of gilt paper 
30 upon it, and on tlie paper a silver snuff-box made in the 
shape of a little book. I found there Avere several other 
counterfeit books upon the upper shelves, which were 
carved in wood, and served only to fill up the number, 
like fagots in the muster of a regiment. I was wonder- 
35 fully pleased with such a mixed kind of furniture, as seemed 
very suitable both to the lady and the scholar, and did not 
know at first whether I should fancy myself in a grotto, 
or in a library. 

Upon my looking into the books, I found there were 
40 some few which tlie lady had bought for her own use, 
but that most of them had been got together, either be- 
cause she had heard tliem praised, or because she had 
seen the authors of them. Among several that I examined 
I very well remember these that follow. 
45 Ogilby's Virgil. 

Dryden's Juvenal. 

Cassandra. 

Cleopatra. 

Astrcea. 
50 Sir Isaac Xewton's works. 

The Grand Cyrus, with a pin stuck in one of the mid- 
dle leaves. 

Pembroke's Arcadia. 

Locke of Human Understanding, with a paper of patches 
55 in it. 

A spelling-book. 

A dictionary for the explanation of hard words. 

Sherlock upon Death . 

The Fifteen Comforts of Jlatrimong. 



24 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 37. 

60 Sir William Temple's Essays. 

Father Malbrauclie's Search after Truth, translated 
into English. 

A book of novels. 

The Academy of Co7n])Uments. 
65 Culpepper's Miihvifery. 

The Ladies^ Calling. 

Tales in Verse, by Mr. Durfey, bound in red leather, 
gilt on the back, and doubled down in several places. 

All the classic authors in wood. 
70 A set of Elzevirs by the same hand. 

Clelia, which opened of itself in the place that de- 
scribes two lovers in a bower. 

Baker's Chronicle. 

Advice to a Dcnigliter. 
75 The New Atlantis, with a key to it. 

Mr. Steele's Christian Hero. 

A prayer-book ; with a bottle of Hungary water by the 
side of it. 

Dr. Sacheverell's Speech, 
80 Fielding's Trial. 

Seneca's Morals. 

Taylor's Holy Living and Dying. 

La Ferte's Listrnctions for Country Dances. 

I was taking a catalogue in my pocket-book of these, 
85 and several other authors, when Leonora entered, and, 
upon my presenting her with the letter from the Knight, 
told me, Avith an unspeakable grace, that she hoped Sir 
Roger was in good health. I answered '' Yes," for I hate 
long speeches, and after a boAV or two retired. 
90 Leonora was formerly a celebrated beauty, and is still 
a very lovely woman. She has been a widow for two or 
three years, and being unfortunate in her first marriage, 
has taken a resolution never to venture upon a second. 
She has no children to take care of, and leaves the man- 



No. 37.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 25 

95 agement of her estate to my good friend Sir Eoger. But 
as the mind naturally sinks into a kind of lethargy, and 
falls asleep, that is not agitated by some favourite pleas- 
ures and pursuits, Leonora has turned all the passions 
of her sex into a love of books and retirement. She con- 

100 verses chiefly with men, (as she has often said herself,) 
but it is only in their writings ; and she admits of very few 
male visitants, except my friend Sir Roger, whom she 
hears with great pleasure, and without scandal. As her 
reading has lain very much among romances, it has given 

105 her a very particular turn of thinking, and discovers it- 
self even in her house, her gardens, and her furniture. 
Sir Roger has entertained me an hour together with a 
description of her country-seat, which is situated in a 
kind of wilderness, about an hundred miles distant from 

110 London, and looks like a little enchanted palace. The 
rocks about her are shaped into artificial grottoes, 
covered with woodbines and jessamines. The woods are 
cut into shady walks, twisted into bowers, and filled 
with cages of turtles. The springs are made to run 

115 among pebbles, and by that means taught to murmur 

very agreeably. They are likewise collected into a 

• beautiful lake, that is inhabited by a couple of swans, 

and empties itself by a little rivulet which runs through 

a green meadow, and is known in the family by the 

120 name of ^^The Purling Stream." The Knight likewise 
tells me, that this lady preserves her game better than 
any of the gentlemen in the country. '^Xot,^' says Sir 
Roger, ^^that she sets so great a value upon her par- 
tridges and pheasants, as upon her larks and nightingales. 

125 For she says that every bird which is killed in her 
ground will spoil a consort, and that she shall certainly 
miss him the next year." 

When I think how oddly this lady is improved by learn- 
ing, I look upon her with a mixture of admiration and 



26 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET [No. 37. 

130 pity. Amidst tliese innocent entertainments which slie 
has formed to herself, how much more vahuible does she 
appear tluin those of her sex, who employ themselves 
in diversions that are less reasonable, though more in 
fashion ! What improvements would a woman have 

135 made, who is so susceptible of impressions from what she 
reads, had she been guided to such books as have a 
tendency to enlighten the understanding and rectify the 
passions, as well as to those which arc of little more use 
than to divert the imagination ! 

140 But the manner of a lady's employing herself usefully 
in reading shall be the subject of another paper, in Avhich 
I design to recommend such particular books as may be 
proper for the improvement of the sex. And as this is a 
subject of a very nice nature, I shall desire my corre- 

145spondents to give me their thoughts upon it. 



No. 106.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 27 



VI. SIR ROGER AT HOME. 

No. 106.] Monday, July 2, 1711. [Addison. 

Hinc tibi copia 
Mandbit ad plenum, benigno 
Ruris honornm opulenfa cornu. 

Horace, Odes, I. xvii. 14. 

Havixg often received an invitation from my friend 
Sir Roger de Coverley to pass away a month with him in 
the country, I last week accompanied liim thither, and 
am settled witli him for some time at his country house, 
5 where I intend to form several of my ensuing specula- 
tions. Sir Roger, wlio is very well acquainted with my 
humour, lets me rise and go to bed when I please, dine at 
his own table or in my chamber as I think fit, sit still 
and say nothing without bidding me be merry. When 

10 the gentlemen of the country come to see him, he only 
shows me at a distance. As I have been walking in his 
fields I have observed them stealing a sight of me over an 
hedge, and have heard the Knight desiring them not to 
let me see them, for that I hated to be stared at. 

15 I am the more at ease in Sir Eoger^s family, because 
it consists of sober and staid persons ; for, as the Knight 
is the best master in the world, he seldom changes his 
servants ; and as he is beloved by all about him, his 
servants never care for leaving him ; Ijy this means his 

20 domestics are all in years, and grown old witli their 
master. You would take his valet de chamhre for his 
brother, his butler is gray-headed, his groom is one of 
the gravest men that I have ever seen, and his coach- 
man has the looks of a privy counsellor. You see the 



28 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 106. 

25 goodness of the master even in the old house-dog, and in 
a gray pad that is kept in the stable with great care and 
tenderness, out of regard to his past services, though he 
has been useless for several years. 

I could not but observe with a great deal of jdeasure, 

30 the joy that aj^peared in the countenances of these 
ancient domestics upon my friend's arrival at his coun- 
try-seat. Some of them could not refrain from tears at 
the sight of their old master ; every one of them pressed 
forward to do something for him, and seemed discouraged 

35 if they were not employed. At the same time the good 
old Knight, with a mixture of the father and the master 
of the family, tempered the inquiries after his own 
affairs with several kind questions relating to themselves. 
This humanity and good-nature engages everybody to 

40 him, so that when he is pleasant upon any of them, all 
his family are in good humour, and none so much as the 
person whom he diverts himself with : on the contrary, 
if he coughs, or betrays any infirmity of old age, it is 
easy for a stander-by to observe a secret concern in the 

45 looks of all his servants. 

My worthy friend has put me under the j)articular 
care of his butler, who is a very prudent man, and, as 
well as the rest of his fellow-servants, wonderfully desir- 
ous of pleasing me, because they have often heard their 

50 master talk of me as of his particular f^'iend. 

My chief companion, when Sir Roger is diverting him- 
self in the woods or the fields, is a very venerable man 
who is ever with Sir Roger, and has lived at his house in 
the nature of a chaplain above thirty years. This gen- 

55tleman is a person of good sense and some learning, of a 
very regular life and obliging conversation: he heartily 
loves Sir Roger, and knows tliat he is very much in the 
old Knight's esteem, so that he lives in the family rather 
as a relation than a dependent. 



No. 106.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 29 

60 I have observed in several of my j)apers that my friend 
Sir Roger, amidst all his good qualities, is something of 
an humourist ; and that his virtues as well as imperfec- 
tions are, as it were, tinged by a certain extravagance, 
which makes them i^articularly his, and distinguishes 

65 them from those of other men. This cast of mind, as it 
is generally very innocent m itself, so it renders his con- 
versation highly agreeable, and more delightful than the 
same degree of sense and virtue would appear in their 
common and ordinary colours. As I was walking with 

70 him last night, he asked me how I liked the good man 
whom I have just now mentioned, and witliout staying 
for my answer told me, that he was afraid of being insulted 
with Latin and Greek at his own table, for which reason 
he desired a particular friend of his at the University to 

75 find him out a clergyman rather of plain sense than much 
learning, of a good aspect, a clear voice, a sociable temper, 
and, if i^ossible, a man that understood a little of back- 
gammon. ^^ My friend," says Sir Roger, ^^ found me 
out this gentleman, who, besides the endowments re- 

Soqi^ired of him, is, they tell me, a good scholar, though 
he does not show it. I have given him the parsonage of 
the parish ; and, because I know his value, have settled 
upon him a good annuity for life. If he outlives me, he 
shall find that he was higher in my esteem than perhaps 

85 he thinks he is. He has now been with me thirty years, 
and, though he does not know I have taken notice of it, 
has never in all that time asked anything of me for him- 
self, though he is every day soliciting me for something 
in behalf of one or other of my tenants his parishioners. 

90 There has not been a lawsuit in the parish since he has 
lived among them : if any dispute arises they apply them- 
selves to him for the decision ; if they do not acquiesce 
in his judgment, which I think never happened above 
once or twice at most, they ap23eal to me. At his first 



30 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 106. 

95 settling with me I made him a present of all the good 
sermons which have been printed in English, and only 
begged of him that every Sunday he would pronounce 
one of them in the pulpit. Accordingly he has digested 

. them into such a series, that they follow one another 

100 naturally, and make a continued system of practical 
divinity." 

As Sir Roger was going on in liis story, the gentleman 
we were talking of came up to us ; and upon the Knight's 
asking him who preached to-morrow (for it was Saturday 

105 night) told us the Bishop of St. Asaph in the morning, 
and Dr. South in the afternoon. He then showed us his 
list of preachers for the whole year, where I saw with 
a great deal of pleasure Archbishop Tillotson, Bishop 
Saunderson, Dr. Barrow, Dr. Calamy, with several liv- 

110 ing authors who have published discourses of practical 
divinity. I no sooner saw this venerable man in the 
pulpit, but I very much approved of my friend's insisting 
upon tlie qualifications of a good aspect and a clear voice ; 
for I was so charmed with the gracefulness of his figure 

115 and delivery, as well as with the discourses he pronounced, 
that I think I never passed anytime more to my satisfac- 
tion. A sermon repeated after this manner is like the 
composition of a poet in the mouth of a graceful actor. 
I could heartily wish that more of our country clergy 

120 would follow this example ; and, instead of wasting their 
spirits in laborious compositions of their own, would en- 
deavour after a handsome elocution, and all those other 
talents that are proper to enforce what has been penned 
by greater masters. This would not only be more easy 

125 to themselves, but more edifying to the people. 



No. 107.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 31 



VII. THE COVERLEY HOUSEHOLD. 

No. 107.] Tuesday, Julys, 1711. [Steele 

u^sopo itigenteni statiiain jwsuere Attici, 
Servuiiique coUocdriuit cetenia in basi, 
Patere honoris scirent ut ciincti viam. 

Ph^drus, Ejnlog. i. 2. 

The reception, manner of attendance, undisturbed 
freedom, and quiet, wliicli I meet with here in the 
country, has confirmed me in tlie oj^inion I always had, 
that the general corrujjtion of manners in servants is 
5 owing to tlie conduct of masters. The aspect of every 
one in the family carries so much satisfaction that it 
appears he knows the happy lot Avhicli has befallen him 
in being a member of it There is one joarticular which 
I have seldom seen but at Sir Roger's ; it is usual in all 

10 other places, that servants fly from the parts of the house 
through which their master is passing ; on the contrary, 
here they industriously place themselves in his way ; and 
it is on both sides, as it were, understood as a visit, when 
the servants appear without calling. This proceeds from 

15 the humane and eqnal temper of the man of the house, 
who also perfectly well knows how to enjoy a great estate 
with such economy as ever to be much beforehand. This 
makes his own mind untroubled, and consequently unapt 
to vent peevish expressions, or give passionate or incon- 

20 sistent orders to those about him. Thus respect and love 
go together, and a certain cheerfulness in ])erform- 
ance of their duty is the particular distinction of the 
lower part of this family. When a servant is called 
before his master, he does not come with an expectation 



32 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 107. 

25 to hear himself rated for some trivial fault, threatened to 
be stripped, or used with any other unbecoming language, 
which mean masters often give to worthy servants ; but 
it is often to know what road he took that he came so 
readily back according to order ; whether he passed by 

80 such a ground; if the old man who rents it is in good 
health ; or whether he gave Sir Roger^s love to him, or 
the like. 

A man who preserves a respect founded on his benev- 
olence to his dependents lives rather like a prince than 

35 a master in his family ; his orders are received as favours, 
rather than duties ; and the distinction of approaching 
him is part of the reward for executing what is com- 
manded by him. 

There is another circumstance in which my friend ex- 

40 eels in his management, which is the manner of reward- 
ing his servants : he has ever been of opinion that giving 
his cast clothes to be worn by valets has a very ill effect 
upon little minds, and creates a silly sense of equality 
between the parties, in persons affected only with out- 

45 ward things. I have heard him often pleasant on this 
occasion, and describe a young gentleman abusing his 
man in that coat which a month or two before was the 
most pleasing distinction he was conscious of in himself. 
He would turn his discourse still more pleasantly upon 

50 the ladies' bounties of this kind ; and I have heard him 
say he knew a fine woman, who distributed rewards and 
punishments in giving becoming or unbecoming dresses 
to her maids. 

But my good friend is above these little instances of 

55 good-will, in bestowing only trifles on his servants; a 
good servant to him is sure of having it in his choice very 
soon of being no servant at all. As I before observed, 
he is so good an husband, and knows so thoroughly that 
the skill of the purse is the cardinal virtue of this life, — 






No. 107.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 33 



60 I say, he knows so well that frugality is the support of 
generosity, that he can often spare a large fine when a 
tenement falls, and give that settlement to a good ser- 
vant who has a mind to go into the world, or make a 
stranger pay the fine to that servant, for his more com- 

65fortable maintenance, if he stays in his service. 

A man of honour and generosity considers it would be 
miserable to himself to have no will but that of another, 
though it were of the best person breathing, and for that 
reason goes on as fast as he is able to put his servants 

70 into independent livelihoods. Tlie greatest part of Sir 
Eoger's estate is tenanted by persons who have served 
himself or his ancestors. It was to me extremely pleas- 
ant to observe the visitants from several parts to welcome 
his arrival into the country ; and all the difference that 

75 1 could take notice of between the late servants who 
came to see him, and those who stayed, in the family, was 
that these latter were looked upon as finer gentlemen and 
better courtiers. 

This manumission and placing them in a way of liveli- 

80 hood I look upon as only what is due to a good servant, 
which encouragement will make his successor be as dili- 
gent, as humble, and as ready as he was. There is some- 
thing wonderful in the narrowness of those minds which 
can be pleased and be barren of bounty to those who 

85 please them. 

One might, on this occasion, recount the sense that 
great persons in all ages have had of the merit of their 
dependents, and the heroic services which men have 
done their masters in the extremity of their fortunes ; 

90 and shown to their undone patrons that fortune was all 
the difference between them ; but as I design this my 
speculation only as a gentle admonition to thankless 
masters, I shall not go out of the occurrences of common 
life, but assert it as a general observation, that I never 
3 



34 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 107. 

95 saw, but in Sir Roger's family, and one or two more, 
good servants treated as they ought to be. Sir Roger's 
kindness extends to their children's children, and this 
very morning he sen his coachman's grandson to j^r en- 
tice. I shall conclude this paper with an account of a 

100 picture in his gallery, where there are many which will 
deserve my future observation. 

At the very upper end of this handsome structure I 
saw the portraiture of two young men standing in a river, 
the one naked, the other in a livery. The person sup- 

105 ported seemed half dead, but still so much alive as to 
show in his face exquisite joy and love towards the otiier. 
I thought tht fainting figure resembled my friend Sir 
Roger ; and looking at the butler, who stood by me, for 
an account of it, he informed me that the person in the 

110 livery was a servant of Sir Roger's, who stood on the 
shore while his master was swimming, and observing him 
taken with some sudden illness, and sink under water, 
jumped in and saved him. Tie told me Sir Roger took 
off the dress he was in as soon as ho came home, and by 

115 a great bounty at that time, followed by his favour ever 
since, had made him master of that pretty seat which 
we saw at a distance as we came to this house. I re- 
membered indeed Sir Roger said there lived a very worthy 
gentleman, to whom he was highly obliged, without 

120 mentioning anything further. Upon my looking a little 
dissatisfied at some part of the picture, my attendant 
informed me that it was against Sir Roger's will, and at 
the earnest request of the gentleman himself, that he 
was drawn in the habit in which he had saved his 

125 master. 







>,*^ 







^■>^'^^>.:^^4Ml 







Will Wimble. 



No. 108.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 35 



VIII. WILL WIMBLE. 

No. 108.] Wednesday, July 4, ITU. [Addison. 

Gratis anhelans, multa agendo nihil agens. 

Ph.edrus, Fab. v. 3. 

As I was yesterday morning walking with Sir Roger 
before his house, a country fellow brought him a huge 
fish, which, he told him, Mr. AVilliam Wimble had caught 
tliat very morning ; and that he presented it, with his 
5 service to him, and intended to come and dine with him. 
At the same time he delivered a letter, which my friend 
read to me as soon as the messenger left him. 

'^ Sir Roger, — I desire you to accept of a jack, which 
is the best I have caught this season. I intend to come 

iOand stay Avith you a week, and see how the perch bite in 
the Black River. I observed with some concern, the last 
time I saw you upon the bowling-green, that your whip 
wanted a lash to it ; I Avill bring half a dozen with me 
that I twisted last week, whicli I liope will serve you all 

15 the time you are in the country. I liave not been out of 
the saddle for six days last past, having been at Eton 
with Sir John's eldest son. He takes to his learning 
hugely. 

" I am, sir, your humble servant, 

20 "AVill Wimble." 

This extraordinary letter, and message that accom- 
panied it, made me very curious to know the character 
and quality of tlie gentleman who sent them, which I 
found to be as follows. Will Wimble is youno^er brother 



36 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 108. 

25 to a baronet, and descended of tlie ancient family of the 
Wimbles. He is now between forty and fifty ; but, being 
bred to no business and born to no estate, he generally 
lives with his elder brother as superintendent of his 
game. He hunts a pack of dogs better than any man in 

30 the country, and is very famous for finding out a hare. 
He is extremely well versed in all the little handicrafts 
of an idle man : he makes a may-fly to a miracle, and 
furnishes the whole country with angle-rods. As he is 
a good-natured officious fellow, and very much esteemed 

35 upon account of his family, he is a welcome guest at 
every house, and keeps up a good correspondence among 
all the gentlemen about him. He carries a tulip-root in 
his pocket from one to another, or exchanges a puppy 
between a couple of friends that live perhaps in the o^f- 

40posite sides of the county. AVill is a j^articular favourite 
of all the young heirs, whom he frequently obliges with 
a net that he has weaved, or a setting-dog that he has 
made himself. He now and then presents a pair of gar- 
ters of his own knitting to their mothers or sisters ; and 

45 raises a great deal of mirth among them, by inquiring as 
often as he meets them how they wear. These gentle- 
man-like manufactures and obliging little humours make 
AVill the darling of the country. 

Sir Roger was proceeding in the character of him, 

50 when we saw him make up to us witii two or three hazel- 
twigs in his hand, that he had cut in Sir Roger's woods, 
as he came through them, in his way to the house. I 
was very much pleased to observe on one side the hearty 
and sincere welcome with which Sir Roger received him, 

55 and, on the other, the secret joy which his guest dis- 
covered at sight of the good old Knight. After the first 
salutes were over, Will desired Sir Roger to lend him one 
of his servants to carry a set of shuttlecocks he had with 
him in a little box to a lady that lived about a mile off, 



No. 108.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 37 

60 to whom it seems he had promised such a present for 
above this half-year. Sir Roger's back was no sooner 
turned but honest Will began to tell me of a large cock- 
plieasant that he had sprung in one of the neighbouring 
woods, with two or three other adventures of the same 

65 nature. Odd and uncommon characters are the game 
that I look for and most delight in ; for which reason I 
was as much pleased with the novelty of the person that 
talked to me, as he could be for his life with the spring- 
ing of a pheasant, and therefore listened to him with 

70 more than ordinary attention. 

In the midst of his discourse the bell rung to dinner, 
where the gentleman I have been speaking of had the 
pleasure of seeing the huge jack he had caught served 
up for the first dish in a most sumptuous manner. Uj^on 

75 our sitting down to it he gave us a long account how he 
had hooked it, played with it, foiled it, and at length 
drew it out upon the bank, with several other particulars 
that lasted all the first course. A dish of wild fowl that 
came afterwards furnished conversation for the rest of 

80 the dinner, which concluded with a late invention of 
Will's for improving the quail-pipe. 

Upon withdrawing into my room after dinner, I was 
secretly touched with compassion towards the honest 
gentleman that had dined with us, and could not but 

85 consider, with a great deal of concern, how so good an 
heart and such busy hands were wholly employed in 
trifles ; that so much humanity should be so little bene- 
ficial to others, and so much industry so little advanta- 
geous to himself. The same temper of mind and applica- 

OOtion to affairs might have recommended him to the public 
esteem, and have raised his fortune in another station of 
life. What good to his country or himself might not a 
trader or merchant have done with such useful though 
ordinary qualifications ? 



38 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 108. 

95 Will Wimble's is the case of many a younger brother 
of a great family, who had rather see their children starve 
like gentlemen than thrive in a trade or ^^rofession that 
is beneath their quality. This humour fills several parts 
of Europe with pride and beggary. It is the happiness 

100 of a trading nation, like ours, that the younger sons, 
though incapable of any liberal art or profession, may 
be placed in such a way of life as may perhaps enable 
them to vie with the best of their family. x\.ccordingly, 
we find several citizens that were launched into the world 

105 with narrow fortunes, rising by an honest industry to 
greater estates than those of their elder brothers. It is 
not improbable but Will was formerly tried at divinity, 
law, or physic ; and that, finding his genius did not lie 
that way, his parents gave him up at length to his own 

110 inventions. But certainly, however improper he might 
have been for studies of a higher nature, he was perfectly 
well turned for the occupations of trade and commerce. 
As I think this is a point which cannot be too much in- 
culcated, I shall desire my reader to compare what I have 

115 here written with what I have said in my twenty-first 
speculation. 



No. 109.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 39 



IX. THE COVERLET PORTRAITS. 
No. 109.] Thursday, July 5, 1711. [Steele. 

Abnormis sqpiens — 

Horace, Satires, II. ii. 3. 

I WAS this morning walking in the gallery, when Sir 
Roger entered at the end opposite to me, and, advancing 
towards me, said he was glad to meet me among his rela- 
tions the De Coverleys, and hoped I liked tiie conversa- 
stionof so mncli good company, who were as silent as 
myself. I knew he allnded to the pictures ; and, as he 
is a gentleman who does not a little value himself upon 
his ancient descent, I expected he would give me some ac- 
count of them. We were now arrived at the upper end 

10 of the gallery, when the Knight faced towards one of 
the pictures, and, as we stood before it, he entered into 
the matter, after liis blunt way of saying things as they 
occur to his imagination without regular introduction or 
care to preserve the appearance of chain of thought. 

15 '^ It is," said he, ^' worth while to consider tlie force of 
dress, and how the persons of one age differ from those 
of another merely by that only. One may observe, also, 
that the general fashion of one age has been followed by 
one particular set of people in another, and by them pre- 

Qo served from one generation to another. Thus the vast 
jetting coat and small bonnet, which was the habit in 
Harry the Seventh's time, is kept on in the yeomen of 
the guard ; not without a good and politic view, be- 
cause they look a foot taller, and a foot and an half 

25 broader : besides that the cap leaves the face expanded. 



40 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 109. 

and consequently more terrible, and fitter to stand at the 
entrance of palaces. 

'^ This predecessor of ours, you see, is dressed after 
this manner, and his cheeks would be no larger than 

30 mine were he in a hat as I am. He was the last man that 
won a prize in the Tilt Yard (which is now a common 
street before Whitehall). Y^ou see the broken lance that 
lies there by his right foot : he shivered that lance of his 
adversary all to pieces ; and, bearing himself, look you, 

35 sir, in this manner, at the same time he came within the 
target of the gentleman who rode against him, and taking 
him with incredible force before him on the pommel of 
his saddle, he in that manner rid the tournament over, 
with an air that showed he did it rather to perform the 

40 rule of the lists than expose his enemy ; however, it ap- 
peared he knew how to make use of a victory, and, with 
a gentle trot, he marched up to a gallery where their 
mistress sat (for they were rivals) and let him down with 
laudable courtesy and pardonable insolence. I don't 

45 know but it might be exactly where the coffee-house is 
now. 

'^ You are to know this my ancestor was not only of a 
military genius, but fit also for tlie arts of peace, for he 
played on the bass-viol as well as any gentlemen at court ; 

50 you see where his viol hangs by his basket-liilt sword. 
The action at the Tilt Yard you may be sure won the fair 
lady, who was a maid of honour, and the greatest beauty 
of her time ; here she stands, the next picture. Y"ou see, 
sir, my great-great-great-grandmother has on the new- 

55 fashioned petticoat, except that the modern is gathered 
at the waist ; my grandmother appears as if she stood in 
a large drum, wliereas the ladies now Avalk as if they were 
in a go-cart. For all this lady was bred at court, she 
became an excellent country wife, she brought ten 

60 children, and, when I show you the library, you shall see. 



No. 109.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 41 

in her own hand (allowing for the difference of the lan- 
guage), the best receipt now in England both for an hasty- 
pudding and a white-pot. 

^*If you please to fall back a little, because 'tis neces- 

65 sary to look at the three next pictures at one view ; l-hese 
are three sisters. She on the right hand, who is so very 
beautiful, died a maid ; the iiext to her, still handsomer, 
had the same fate, against her will; this homely thing in the 
middle had both their portions added to her own, and 

70 was stolen by a neighbouring gentleman, a man of stratagem 
and resolution, for he poisoned three mastiffs to come at 
her, and knocked down two deer-stealers in carrying her 
off. Misfortunes happen in all families ; the theft of 
this romp and so much money was no great matter to our 

75 estate. But the next heir that possessed it was this soft 
gentleman, whom you see there ; observe the small buttons, 
the little boots, the laces, the slashes about his clothes, 
and, above all, the posture he is drawn in (which to be 
sure was his own choosing) ; you see he sits with one 

80 hand on a desk, writing and looking as it were another 
way, like an easy writer, or a sonneteer. He was one of 
those that had too much wit to know how to live in the 
world ; he was a man of no justice, but great good man- 
ners ; he ruined everybody that had anything to do with 

85 him, but never said a rude thing in his life; the most 
indolent person in the world, he would sign a deed that 
passed away half his estate with his gloves on, but would 
not put on his hat before a lady if it were to save his 
country. He is said to be the first that made love by 

90 squeezing the hand. He left the estate with ten thousand 
pounds debt upon it ; but, however, by all hands I have 
been informed that he was every way the finest gentleman 
in the world. That debt lay heavy on our house for one 
generation ; but it was retrieved by a gift from that honest 

95 man you see there, a citizen of our name, but nothing at 



42 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 109. 

all akin to us. I know Sir Andrew Freeport has said 
behind my back that this man was descended from one of 
the ten children of the maid of honour I showed you above ; 
but it was never made out. AVe winked at the thing, 

100 indeed, because money was wanting at that time." 

Here I saw my friend a little embarrassed, and turned 
my face to the next portraiture. 

Sir Koger went on with his account of the gallery in 
the following manner. '^ This man ^' (pointing to him I 

105 looked at) ^'I take to be the honour of our house, Sir 
Humphrey de Coverley ; he was in liis dealings as punc- 
tual as a tradesman, and as generous as a gentleman. 
He would have thought himself as much undone by break- 
ing liis word, as if it were to be followed by bankruptcy. 

nolle served liis country as knight of this shire to his dying 
day. He found it no easy matter to maintain an in- 
tegrity in his words and actions, even in things that 
regarded tlie offices which were incumbent upon him, in 
the care of his own affairs and relations of life, and there- 

115 fore dreaded (though he had great talents) to go into 
employments of state, where he must be exposed to the 
snares of ambition. Innocence of life and great ability 
were the distinguishing parts of his character ; the 
latter, he had often observed, liad led to tlie destruction 

120 of the former, and used frequently to himont that great 
and good had not the same signification. He was an 
excellent husbandman, but had resolved not to exceed 
such a degree of Avealth ; all above it he bestowed in 
secret bounties many years after the sum he aimed at for 

125 his own use was attained. Yet he did not slacken his in- 
dustry, but to a decent old age spent tlie life and fortune 
which was superfluous to himself in the service of his 
friends and neighbours." 

Here we were called to dinner, and Sir Roger ended 

130 the discourse of this gentleman by telling me, as we 



No. 109.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 43 

followed the servant, that this his ancestor was a 
brave man, and narrowly escaped being killed in the 
Civil Wars; '* for," said he, "he was sent out of the 
field upon a private message the day before the battle of 
135 Worcester." 

The whim of narrowly escaping by having been within 
a day of danger, with other matters above mentioned, 
mixed with good sense, left me at a loss whether I was 
more delighted with my friend's wisdom or simplicity. 



44: SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY fNo. 110. 



X. THE COVERLEY GHOST. 

No. 110.] Friday, July 6, 1711. [Addison. 

Hoi^or uhique anivios, simul ipsa silentia ter-rent. 

Virgil, u^neid, ii. 755. 

At a little distance from Sir Soger's house, among the 
ruins of an old abbey, there is a long walk of aged elms, 
which are shot up so very high, that, when one passes 
under them, tlie rooks and crows that rest upon the tops 
5 of them seem to be cawing in another region. lam very 
much delighted with this sort of noise, which I consider 
as a kind of natural prayer to tliat Being who supplies 
the wants of his whole creation, and who, in the beauti- 
ful language of the Psalms, feedeth the young ravens 

10 that call upon Him. I like this retirement the better, 
because of an ill report it lies under of being haunted ; 
for which reason (as I have been told in the family) no 
living creature ever walks in it besides the chaplain. 
My good friend the butler desired me, with a very grave 

15 face, not to venture myself in it after sunset, for that one 
of the footmen had been almost frighted out of his wits 
by a spirit that appeared to him in the shape of a black 
horse without an head ; to which he added, that about a 
month ago one of the maids coming home late that way 

20 with a pail of milk upon her head, heard such a rustling 
among the bushes that she let it fall. 

I was taking a walk in this place last night between 
the hours of nine and ten, and could not but fancy it one 
of the most proper scenes in the world for a ghost to ap- 

25 pear in. The ruins of the abbey are scattered up and 
down on every side, and half covered with ivy and elder 



No. 110.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 45 

bushes, the harbours of several solitary birds, which seldom 
make their aj)pearance till the dusk of the evening. The 
place was formerly a churchyard, and has still several 

.30 marks in it of graves and burying-places. Tliere is such 
an echo among the old ruins and vaults, tliat if you stamp 
but a little louder than ordinary you hear the sound 
repeated. At the same time the walk of elms, with the 
croaking of the ravens, which from time to time are 

35 heard from the tops of them, looks exceeding solemn and 
venerable. These objects naturally raise seriousness and 
attention ; and when night heightens the awf ulness of the 
place, and pours out her supernumerary horrors upon 
everything in it, I do not at all wonder that weak minds 

40 fill it with spectres and apparitions. 

Mr. Locke, in his chapter of the Association of Ideas, 
has very curious remarks to show how, by the prejudice 
of education, one idea often introduces into the mind a 
whole set that bear no resemblance to one another in the 

45 nature of things. Among several examples of tliis kind, 
he produces the following instance : — '' The ideas of 
goblins and sprites have really no more to do with dark- 
ness than liglit : yet, let but a foolish maid inculcate 
these often on the mind of a child, and raise them there 

50 together, possibly he shall never be able to separate them 
again so long as he lives, but darkness shall ever after- 
wards bring with it those frightful ideas, and they shall 
be so joined that he can no more bear the one than the 
other." 

55 As I was walking in this solitude, where the dusk of 
the evening conspired with so many other occasions of 
terror, I observed a cow grazing not far from me, which 
an imagination that is apt to startle might easily have 
construed into a black horse without an head : and I dare 

60 say the poor footman lost his wits upon some such trivial 
occasion. 



46 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. [No. 110. 

My friend Sir Roger has often told me with a great 
deal of mirth, tliat at his first coming to his estate, he 
found three parts of his house altogether useless ; that 

65 the best room in it had the reputation of being haunted, 
and by that means was locked up ; that noises had been 
heard in his long gallery, so that he could not get a 
servant to enter it after eight o^clock at night ; that the 
door of one of his chambers was nailed up, because there 

70 went a story in the family that a butler had formerly 
hanged himself in it ; and that liis mother, Avho lived to 
a great age, had shut up half the rooms in the house, in 
which either her husband, a son, or daughter had died. 
The Knight, seeing his habitation reduced to so small a 

75 compass, and himself in a manner shut out of his own 
house, upon the death of his mother ordered all the apart- 
ments to be flung open and exorcised by his chaplain, who 
lay in every room one after another, and by that means 
dissipated the fears whicli had so long reigned in the 

80 family. 

I should not have been thus particular upon these 
ridiculous horrors, did I not find them so very much 
prevail in all parts of the country. At the same time, 
I think a person who is thus terrified with the imagina- 

85 tion of ghosts and spectres much more reasonable than 
one, who, contrary to tlie reports of all historians, sacred 
and profane, ancient and modern, and to the traditions of 
all nations, thinks the appearance of spirits fabulous and 
groundless : could not I give myself up to this general 

90 testimony of mankind, I should to the relatious of particu- 
lar persons who are now living, and whom I cannot dis- 
trust in other matters of fact. I might here add, that not 
only the historians, to whom we may join the poets, but 
likewise the ]3hilosophers of antiquity have favoured this 

95 opinion. Lucretius himself, though by the course of his 
philosophy lie was obliged to maintain that the soul did 



No. 110.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 47 

not exist separate from the body, makes no doubt of the 
reality of apparitions, and that men have often appeared 
after their death. This I think very remarkable ; he was 

100 so pressed with tlie matter of fact, which he could not have 
the confidence to deny, that he was forced to account for 
it by one of the most absurd unpliilosophical notions that 
was ever started. He tells us that the surfaces of all 
bodies are per^^etually flying off from their respective 

105 bodies, one after another ; and that these surfaces or thin 
cases that included each other whilst they were joined in 
the body, like the coats of an onion, are sometimes seen 
entire when they are separated from it ; by which means 
we often behold the shapes and shadows of persons who 

110 are either dead or absent. 

I shall dismiss this paj^er with a story out of Josephus, 
not so much for the sake of the story itself as for the 
moral reflections with which the author concludes it, and 
which I shall here set down in his own words. '^' Glaphyra, 

115 the daughter of king Archelaus, after the death of her two 
first husbands (being married to a third, who was brother 
to her first husband, and so passionately in love with lier, 
that he turned off his former wife to make room for this 
marriage), had a very odd kind of dream. She fancied 

120 that she saw her fii'st husband coming towards her, and 
that she embraced him with great tenderness ; when in 
the midst of the pleasure which she expressed at the sight 
of him, he reproached her after the following manner : 
' Glaphyra,^ says he, ' thou hast made good the old say- 

125 ing, that Avomen are not to be trusted. Was not I the 
husband of thy virginity ? Have I not children by thee ? 
How couldst thou forget our loves so far as to enter into 
a second marriage, and after that into a third, nay to 
take for thy husband a man who has so shamelessly crept 

130 into the bed of his brother? However, for the sake of 
our past loves, I shall free thee from thy present reproach, 



48 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 110. 

and make thee mine forever/ Glaphyra told this dream 
to several women of her acquaintance, and died soon after. 
I thought this story might not be impertinent in this 

135 place, wherein I speak of those kings. Besides that, the 
example deserves to be taken notice of, as it contains a 
most certain proof of the immortality of the soul, and of 
Divine Providence. If any man thinks these facts incred- 
ible, let him enjoy his own opinion to himself, but let him 

140 not endeavour to disturb the belief of others, who by in- 
stances of this nature are excited to the study of virtue/' 



A 



No, 112.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 4,9 



XI. A SUNDAY AT SIR ROGER'S. 

No. 112.] Monday, July 9, 1711. [Addison. 

^Adavdrov^ jLi^v Trpcjra Heohg v6jHf> wf (hciKtirai, 

Pythagoras, Carmina Aurea, 1-2. 

I AM always very well pleased with a country Sunday, 
and think, if keeping holy the seventh day were only a 
human institution, it would be the best method that 
could have been thought of for the polishing and civilis- 
5 ing of mankind. It is certain the country people would 
soon degenerate into a kind of savages and barbarians, 
were there not such frequent returns of a stated time, in 
which the whole village meet together with their best 
faces, and in their cleanliest habits, to converse with one 

10 another upon indifferent subjects, hear their duties ex- 
plained to them, and join together in adoration of the 
Supreme Being. Sunday clears away the rust of the 
whole week, not only as it refreshes in their minds the 
notions of religion, but as it puts both the sexes upon 

15 appearing in their most agreeable forms, and exerting all 
such qualities as are apt to give them a figure in the eye 
of the village. A country fellow distinguishes himself 
as much in the churchyard, as a citizen does upon the 
^Change, the whole parish politics being generally dis- 

20 cussed in that place, either after sermon or before the 
bell rings. 

My friend Sir Roger, being a good churchman, has 
beautified the inside of his church with several texts of 
his own choosing ; he has likewise given a handsome 

25 pulpit cloth, and railed in the communion table at his 
4 



50 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 112. 

own expense. He has often told me that, at liis coming 
to his estate, he found hi§ parishioners very irreguhir ; 
and that in order to make them kneel and join in the 
responses, he gave every one of them a hassock and a 
30 Common Prayer Book : and at the same time employed 
an itinerant singing master, who goes about the country 
for that purpose, to instruct them rightly in tlie tunes of 
the Psalms ; upon which they now very much value them- 
selves, and indeed outdo most of the country churches 
35 that I have ever heard. 

As Sir Roger is landlord to the whole congregation, lie 
keeps them in very good order, and will suffer nobody to 
sleep in it besides himself ; for if by chance he has been 
surprised into a short nap at sermon, upon recovering 
40 out of it he stands up and looks about him, and, if lie 
sees anybody else nodding, either wakes them himself, or 
sends his servant to them. Several other of the old 
Knight's particularities break out upon these occasions • 
sometimes he will be lengthening out a verse in the sing- 
43ing Psalms half a minute after the rest of the congrega- 
tion have done with it ; sometimes, when he is pleased 
with the matter of his devotion, he pronounces Amen 
three or four times to the same prayer ; and sometimes 
stands up when everybody else is upon their knees, to 
50 count the congregation, or see if any of his tenants are 
missing. 

I was yesterday very much surprised to hear my old 
friend, in the midst of the service, calling out to one 
John Matthews to mind what he was about, and not dis- 
55turb the congregation. This John Matthews it seems is 
remarkable for being an idle fellow, and at that time was 
kicking his heels for his diversion. This authority of 
the Knight, though exerted in that odd manner which 
accompanies him in all circumstances of life, has a very 
60 good effect upon the parish, who are not polite enough to 




Sir Roger and his Tenants 



No. 112.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 51 

see anything ridiculous in his behaviour ; besides that the 
general good sense and worthiness of his character makes 
his friends observe tliese little singularities as foils that 
rather set off than blemish his good qualities. 

65 As soon as the sermon is finished, nobody presumes 
to stir till Sir Roger is gone out of tlie church. The 
Knio-lit walks down from his seat in the chancel between 
a double row of liis tenants, that stand bowing to him 
on each side, and every now and then inquires how such 

70 ah one's wife, or mother, or son, or father do, whom he 
does not see at church, — which is understood as a secret 
reprimand to the person that is absent. 

The chaplain has often told me, that upon a catechis- 
ing day, when Sir Roger has been pleased with a boy 

75 that answers well, he has ordered a Bible to be given him 
next day for his encouragement and sometimes accom- 
panies it with a flitch of bacon J;o his mother. Sir Roger 
has likewise added five pounds a year to the clerk's place ; 
and that he may encourage the young fellows to make 

80 themselves perfect in the church service, has promised, 
upon the death of the present incumbent, who is very 
old, to bestow it according to merit. 

The fair understanding between Sir Roger and his 
chaplain, and their mutual concurrence in doing good, 

85 is the more remarkable, because the very next village is 
famous for the differences and contentions that rise be- 
tween the parson and the squire, who live in a perpetual 
state of war. The parson is always preaching at the 
squire, and the squire, to be revenged on the parson, 

90 never comes to church. The squire has made all his 
tenants atheists and tithe-stealers ; while the parson 
instructs them every Sunday in the dignity of his order, 
and insinuates to them in almost every sermon that he is 
a better man than his patron. In short, matters are 

95 come to such an extremity, that the squire has not said 



52 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET [No. 112. 

his prayers either in public or private this half-year ; and 
that the parson threatens him, if he does not mend his 
manners, to pray for him in the face of the whole con- 
gregation. 

100 Feuds of this nature, though too frequent in the coun- 
try, are very fatal to the ordinary people ; who are so 
used to be dazzled with riches, that they pay as much 
deference to the understanding of a man of an estate as 
of a man of learning ; and are very hardly brought to 

105 regard any truth, how important soever it may be, that 
is preached to them, when they know there are several 
men of five hundred a year who do not believe it. 



No. 113.J SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 53 



XII. SIR ROGER IN LOVE. 

No. 113.] Tuesday, July 10, 1711. [Steele. 

— Hcerent infixi pectore vultus. 

~ • Virgil, ^neid, iv. 4. 

Ik my first description of the company in which I pass 
most of my time it may be remembered that I mentioned 
a great affliction which my friend Sir Roger had met 
with in his youth : which was no less than a disappoint- 
5 ment in love. It happened this evening that we fell into a 
very pleasing walk at a distance from his house : as soon as 
we came into it, ^'^It is," quoth the good old man, look- 
ing round him with a smile, '^ very hard, that any part 
of my land shoukl be settled upon one who has used me 

10 so ill as the perverse Widow did ; and yet I am sure I 
could not see a sprig of any bough of this whole walk of 
trees, but I should reflect upon her and her severity. 
She has certainly the finest hand of any woman in the 
world. You are to know this was the place wherein I 

15 used to muse upon her ; and by that custom I can never 
come into it, but the same tender sentiments revive in 
my mind as if I had actually walked with that beautiful 
creature under these shades. I have been fool enough 
to carve her name on the bark of several of these trees ; 

20 so unhappy is the condition of men in love to attempt 
the removing of their passion by the methods which serve 
only to imprint it deeper. She has certainly the finest 
hand of any woman in the world." 

Here followed a profound silence ; and I was not dis- 

25 pleased to observe my friend falling so naturally into a 
discourse which I had ever before taken notice he indus* 



54 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 113. 

triously avoided. After a very long pause he entered 
upon an account of this great circumstance in his life, 
with an air which I tliought raised my idea of him above 

30 what I had ever had before ; and gave me tlie picture of 
that cheerful mind of his, before it received that stroke 
which has ever since affected his words and actions. But 
he went on as follows : — 

'^ I came to my estate in my twenty-second year, and 

35 resolved to follow the steps of the most worthy of my an- 
cestors who have inhabited this spot of earth before me, 
in all the methods of hospitality and good neighbourhood, 
for the sake of my fame, and in country sports and recrea- 
tions, for the sake of my healtli. In my twenty-third 

40 year I was obliged to serve as sheriff of the county ; and 
in my servants, officers, and whole equipage, indulged 
the pleasure of a young man (who did not think ill of his 
own person) in taking that public occasion of showing 
my figure and behaviour to advantage. You may easily 

45 imagine to yourself what appearance I made, who am 
pretty tall, rid well, and was very well dressed, at the 
head of a whole county, with music before me, a feather 
in my hat, and my horse well bitted. I can assure you I 
was not a little pleased with the kind looks and glances 

50 1 had from all the balconies and windows as I rode 
to the hall where the assizes were held. But when 1 
came there, a beautiful creature in a widow's habit sat 
in court, to hear the event of a cause concerning her 
dower. This commanding creature (wlio was born for 

55 destruction of all who behold her) put on such a resigna- 
tion in lier countenance, and bore the whispers of all 
around the court, with such a pretty uneasiness, I war- 
rant you, and then recovered herself from one eye to 
another, till she was perfectly confused by meeting some- 

60 thing so wistful in all she encountered, that at last, with 
a murrain to her, she cast her bewitching eye upon me. 



No. 113.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 55 

I no sooner met it but I bowed like a great surprised 
booby ; and knowing her cause to be the first which 
came on, I cried, like a captivated calf as I was, ' Make 

65 way for the defendant's witnesses.' This sudden par- 
tiality made all the county immediately see the sheriff 
also was become a slave to the fine Widow. During the 
time her cause was upon trial, she behaved herself, I 
warrant you, Avith such a deep attention to her business, 

70 took opportunities to have little billets handed to her 
counsel, then would be in such a pretty confusion, occa- 
sioned, you must know, by acting before so much com- 
pany, that not only I but the whole court was prejudiced 
in her favour ; and all that the next heir to her husband 

75 had to urge was thought so groundless and frivolous, 
that wlien it came to her counsel to reply, there was not 
half so much said as every one besides in the court 
thought he could have urged to her advantage. You 
must understand, sir, this perverse woman is one of those 

80 unaccountable creatures, that secretly rejoice in the ad- 
miration of men, but indulge tliemselves in no further 
consequences. Hence it is that she has ever had a train 
of admirers, and she removes from her slaves in town to 
those in the country, according to the seasons of the year. 

85 She is a reading lady, and far gone in the 2:)leasures of 
friendship ; she is always accompanied by a confidante, 
who is witness to her daily protestations against our sex, 
and consequently a bar to her first steps towards love, 
upon the strength of her own maxims and declarations. 

90 " However, I must needs say this accomplished mis- 
tress of mine has distinguished me above the rest, and 
has been known to declare Sir Roger de Coverley was the 
tamest and most human of all the brutes in the country. 
I was told she said so by one who thought he rallied me ; 

95 but upon the strength of this slender encouragement of 
being thought least detestable, I made new liveries, new 



56 SIR RO(jfER DE COVERLEY [No. 113. 

paired my coach-horses, sent them all to town to be 
bitted, and taiiglit to throw their legs well, and move all 
together, before I pretended to cross the country and 

100 wait upon her. As soon as I thought my retinue suit- 
able to the character of my fortune and youtii, I set out 
from hence to make my addresses. The particular skill 
of this lady has ever been to inflame your wishes, and yet 
command respect. To make her mistress of this art, she 

105 has a greater share of knowledge, wit, and good sense 
than is usual even among men of merit. Then she is 
beautiful beyond the race of women. If you won't let 
her go on with a certain artifice with her eyes, and tlie 
skill of beauty, she Avill arm herself with her real charms, 

110 and strike you with admiration. It is certain that if you 
were to behold the whole woman, there is that dignity in 
her aspect, tliat composure in her motion, that com- 
placency in her manner, that if lier form makes you hope, 
her merit makes you fear. But then again, she is such 

115 a desperate scholar, tliat no country gentleman can ap- 
proach her without being a jest. As I was going to tell 
you, when 1 came to her house I was admitted to her 
presence with great civility ; at the same time she placed 
herself to be first seen by me in such an attitude, as I 

120 think you call the posture of a picture, that she dis- 
covered new charms, and I at last came towards her with 
such an awe as made me speechless. This she no sooner ob- 
served but she made her advantage of it, and began a 
discourse to me concerning love and honour, as they both 

125 are followed by pretenders, and the real votaries to them. 
When she had discussed these points in a discourse, which 
I verily believe was as learned as the best philosopher in 
Europe could possibly make, she asked me whether she 
was so happy as to fall in witli my sentiments on these 

130 important particulars. Her confidante sat by her, and 
upon my being in the last confusion and silence, this 



No. 113.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 57 

malicious aid of hers turning to her says, ^ I am very glud 
to observe Sir Roger pauses upon this subject, and seems 
resolved to deliver all his sentiments upon the matter 

135 when he pleases to speak. ^ They both kept their coun- 
tenances, and after I had sat half an hour meditating 
how to behave before such profound casuists, I rose up 
and took my leave. Chance has since that time thrown 
me very often in her way, and she as often has directed 

140 a discourse to me which I do not understand. This bar- 
barity has kept me ever at a distance from the most 
beautiful object my eyes ever beheld. It is thus also she 
deals with all mankind, and you must make love to her, 
as you would conquer the sphinx, by posing her. But Avere 

145 she like other women, and that there were any talking 
to her, how constant must the pleasure of that man be, 
who could converse with a creature — But, after all, 
you may be sure her heart is fixed 021 some one or other ; 
and yet I have been credibly informed — but who can be- 

150 lieve half that is said ? After she had done speaking to 
me, she put her hand to lier bosom and adjusted her 
tucker. Then she cast her eyes a little down, upon my 
beholding her too earnestly. They say she sings excel- 
lently : her voice in her ordinary speech has something 

155 in it inexpressibly sweet. You must know I dined with 
her at a public table the day after I first saw her, and 
she helped me to some tansy in the eye of all the gen- 
tlemen in the country : she has certainly the finest hand 
of any woman in the world. I can assure you, sir, were 

160 you to behold her, you would be in the same condition ; 
for as her speech is music, her form is angelic. But I 
find I grow irregular while I am talking of her ; but in- 
deed it would be stupidity to be unconcerned at such 
perfection. Oh the excellent creature ! she is as in- 

165imitable to all women as she is inaccessible to all men.^' 
I found my friend begin to rave, and insensibly led 



58 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 113. 

him towards tlie house, that we miglit be joined by some 
other company ; and am convinced that the Widow is 
the secret cause of all that inconsistency which appears 

170 in some parts of my friend's discourse ; though he has 
so much command of himself as not directly to mention 
her, yet according to that [passage] of Martial, which 
one knows not how to render in English, Dum facet 
hanc loquitur. I shall end this paper with that whole 

175 epigram, which represents with much humour my honest 
friend's condition. 

Quicquid agit Rufus nihil est nisi Ntevia Rufo, 
Si gaudet, si flet, si tacet, lianc loquitur : 

Coenat, propinat, poscit, negat, annuit, una est 
180 Nt^via ; si non sit Nee via niutus erit. 

Scriberet liesteriia patri cum kice saluteni, 
Nsevia lux, inquit, Nsevia lumen, ave. 

Let Rufus weep, rejoice, stand, sit, or walk, 
Still he can notliing but of Na?via talk ; 
185 Let him eat, drink, ask questions, or dispute, 

Still he must speak of Naevia, or be mute ; 
He writ to his father, ending with this line, 
*' I am, my lovely Nee via, ever thine." 



No. 114.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 59 



XIII. ECONOMY IN AFFAIRS. 

No. 114.J Wednesday, July 11, 1711. [Steele. 

Paupertatis pudor et fiiga — 

Horace, Epistles, I. xA-iii. 24. 

Economy in our affairs has the same effect iqjoii our 
fortunes which good breeding has upon our conversa- 
tions. There is a pretending behaviour in both cases, 
which, instead of making men esteemed, renders them 
5 both miserable and contemptibre. We had yesterday at 
Sir Eoger's a set of country gentlemen who dined with 
him ; and after dinner the glass w\as taken, by those who 
' pleased, pretty plentifully. Among others I observed a 
person of a tolerable good aspect, who seemed to be more 

10 greedy of liquor than any of the company, and yet, me- 
thought, he did not taste it with delight. As he grew 
warm, he was suspicious of everything that was said ; 
and as he advanced towards being fuddled, his humour 
grew worse. At the same time his bitterness seemed to 

15 be rather an inward dissatisfaction in his own mind than 
any dislike he had taken at the company. Upon hear- 
ing his name, I knew him to be a gentleman of a con- 
siderable fortune in this county, but greatly in debt. 
What gives the unhappy man this peevishness of spirit, 

20 is, that his estate is dipped, and is eating out with usuiy ; 
and yet he has not the heart to sell any part of it. His 
proud stomach, at the cost of restless nights, constant 
inquietudes, danger of affronts, and a thousand nameless 
inconveniences, preserves this canker in his fortune, 

25 rather than it shall be said he is a man of fewer hun- 
dreds a year than he has been commonly reputed. Thus 
he endures the torment of poverty, to avoid the name of 



60 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 114. 

being less rich. If you go to his house you see great 
plenty, but served in a manner that shows it is all un- 

30 natural, and that the master's mind is not at home. There 
is a certain waste and carelessness in the air of every- 
thing, and the whole appears but a covered indigence, a 
magnificent poverty. That neatness and cheerfulness 
which attends the table of him who lives within compass 

35 is wanting, and exchanged for a libertine way of service 
in all about him. 

This gentleman's conduct, though a very common way 
of management, is as ridiculous as that officer's would be, 
who had but few men under his command, and should 

40 take the charge of an extent of country rather than of a 
small pass. To pay for, personate, and keep in a man's 
hands a greater estate than he really has, is of all others 
the most unpardonable vanity, and must in the end 
reduce the man who is guilty of it to dishonour. Yet if 

45 we look round us in any county of Great Britain, we shall 
see many in this fatal error ; if that may be called by so 
soft a name which proceeds from a false shame of ap- 
pearing what they really are, when the contrary behavioui 
would in a short time advance them to the condition 

50 which tliey pretend to. 

Laertes has fifteen hundred pounds a year, which is 
mortgaged for six thousand pounds ; but it is impossible 
to convince him that if he sold as much as would pay off 
that debt he would save four shillings in the pound, 

55 which he gives for the vanity of being the reputed master 
of it. Yet if Laertes did this, he would perhaps be 
easier in his own fortune ; but then Irus, a fellow of yes- 
terday, who has but twelve hundred a year, would be his 
equal. Rather than this shall be, Laertes goes on to 

60 bring well-born beggars into the world, and every twelve- 
month charges his estate with at least one year's rentv* 
more by the birth of a child. 



No. 114.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. gj 

Laertes and Iriis are neighbours, whose way of living 
are an abomination to each other. Irus is moved by the 

65 fear of poverty, and Laertes by the shame of it. Tliough 
the motive of action is of so near affinity in both, and 
may be resolved into this, tliat to each of them poverty 
is the greatest of all evils, yet are their manners very 
widely different. Shame of poverty makes Laertes launch 

70 into unnecessary equipage, vain expense, and lavish en- 
tertainments ; fear of poverty makes Irus allow himself 
only plain necessaries, appear without a servant, sell his 
own corn, attend his labourers, and be himself a labourer. 
Shame of poverty makes Laertes go every day a step 

75 nearer to it, and fear of poverty stirs up Irus to make 
every day some further progress from it. 

These different motives produce the excesses which 
men are guilty of in the negligence of an provision for 
themselves. Usury, stock-jobbing, extortion, and oppres- 

80 sion have their seed in the dread of want ; and vanity, 
riot, and prodigality, from the shame of it : but both 
these excesses are infinitely below the pursuit of a rea- 
sonable creature. After we have taken care to command 
so much as is necessary for maintaining ourselves in the 

85 order of men suitable to our character, the care of super- 
fluities is a vice no less extravagant than the neglect of 
necessaries would have been before. 

Certain it is, tliat they are both out of nature, when 
she is followed with reason and good sense. It is from 

90 this reflection that I always read Mr. Cowley with the 
greatest pleasure. His magnanimity is as much above 
that of other considerable men as his understanding ; 
and it is a true distinguishing spirit in the elegant author 
who published his works, to dwell so much upon the 

95 temper of his mind and the moderation of his desires. 
By this means he has rendered his friend as amiable as 
famous. That state of life which bears the face of 



02 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 114. 

poverty with Mr. Cowley's ^^ great vulgar" is admirably 
described ; and it is no small satisfaction to those of the 

100 same turn of desire, that he produces the authority of 
the wisest men of the best age of the world to strengthen 
his opinion of the ordinary pursuits of mankind. 

It would, methinks, be no ill maxim of life, if according 
to that ancestor of Sir Roger whom I lately mentioned, 

105 every man would point to himself what sum he would 
resolve not to exceed. He might by this means cheat 
himself into a tranquillity on this side of that expecta- 
tion, or convert what he should get above it to nobler 
uses than his own pleasures or necessities. This temper 

110 of mind would exempt a man from an ignorant envy of 
restless men above him, and a more inexcusable contempt 
of happy men below him. This would be sailing by some 
compass, living with some design ; but to be eternally 
bewildered in prospects of future gain, and j)utting on 

115 unnecessary armour against improbable blows of fortune, 
is a mechanic being which has not good sense for its 
direction, but is carried on by a sort of acquired instinct 
towards things below our consideration, and unworthy 
our esteem. 

130 It is possible that the tranquillity I now enjoy at 
Sir Roger's may have created in me this way of think- 
ing, which is so abstracted from the common relish of 
the world : but as I am now in a pleasing arbour, sur- 
rounded with a beautiful landscape, I find no inclination 

125 so strong as to continue in these mansions, so remote 
from the ostentatious scenes of life ; and am at this pres- 
ent writing philosopher enough to conclude with Mr. 
Cowley, — 

" If e'er ambition did my fancy cheat, 
130 With any wish so mean as to be great, 

Continue, Heav'n, still from me to remove 
The humble blessings of that life I love." 



No. 113.J SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 68 



XIV. BODILY EXERCISE. 

No. 115.] Thursday, July 12, 1711. [Addison. 

Ut sit mens sana in corpore sano. 

Juvenal, Satire x. 356. 

Bodily labour is of two kinds, either that which a man 
submits to for his livelihood, or that which he undergoes 
for his pleasure. The latter of them generally changes 
the name of labour for that of exercise, but differs only 
5 from ordinary labour as it rises from another motive. 
A countrv life abounds in both these kinds of labour, 
and for that reason gives a man a greater stock of health, 
and consequently a more perfect enjoyment of himself, 
than any other way of life. I consider the body as a 

10 system of tubes and glands, or, to use a more rustic 
phrase, a bundle of pipes and strainers, fitted to one 
another after so wonderful a manner as to make a proper 
engine for the soul to work with. This description does 
not only comprehend the bowels, bones, tendons, veins, 

15 nerves, and arteries, but every muscle and every ligature, 
which is a composition of fibres, that are so many im- 
perceptible tubes or pipes interwoven on all sides with 
invisible glands or strainers. 

This general idea of a human body, without consider- 

20 ing it in its niceties of anatomy, lets us see how abso- 
lutely necessary labour is for the right preservation of it. 
There must be frequent motions and agitations, to mix, 
digest, and sej)arate the juices contained in it, as well as 
to clear and cleanse that infinitude of pipes and strainers, 

25 of which it is composed, and to give their solid parts a 
more firm and lasting tone. Labour or exercise ferments 



64 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 115. 

the humours, casts them into their proper channels, 
throws off redundancies, and helps nature in those secret 
distributions, without which the body cannot subsist in 

30 its vigour, nor the soul act with cheerfulness. 

I might here mention the effects which this has upon 
all the faculties of the mind, by keeping the understand- 
ing clear, the imagination untroubled, and refining tliose 
spirits that are necessary for the proper exertion of our 

35 intellectual faculties, during the present laws of union 
between soul and body. It is to a neglect in this partic- 
ular that we must ascribe the spleen which is so frequent 
in men of studious and sedentary tempers, as well as the 
vapours to which those of the other sex are so often 

40 subject. 

Had not exercise been absolutely necessary lor our well- 
being, nature would not have made the body so proper for 
it, by giving such an activity to the limbs, and such a 
pliancy to every part as necessarily produce those compres- 

45sions, extensions, contortions, dilatations, and all other 
kinds of motions that are necessary for the preservation 
of such a system of tubes and glands as has been before 
mentioned. And that we might not want inducements 
to engage us in such an exercise of the body as is proper 

50 for its welfare, it is so ordered that nothing valuable can 
be procured without it. Not to mention riches and honour, 
even food and raiment are not to be come at without the 
toil of the hands and sweat of the brows. Providence 
furnishes materials but expects that we should work them 

55 uj) ourselves. The earth must be laboured before it gives 
its increase, and when it is forced into its several products, 
how many hands must they pass through before they are 
fit for use ! Manufactures, tfade, and agriculture natu- 
rally employ more than nineteen parts of the species in 

60 twenty ; and as for those who are not obliged to labour, by 
the condition in which they are born, they are more 



No. 115.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 65 

miserable than the rest of mankind nnless they inclnlge 
themselves in that voluntary labour whicli goes by the 
name of exercise. 

65 My friend Sir Eoger has been an indefatigable man in 
business of this kind, and has hung several parts of his 
house with the trophies of his former labours. The walls 
of his great hall are covered witli the horns of several 
kinds of deer that he has killed in the chase, which he 

70 thinks the most valuable furniture of his house, as they 
afford him frequent topics of discourse, and show that he 
has not been idle. At the lower end of the hall is a large 
otter^s skin stuff eel with hay, which his mother ordered to 
be hung up in that manner, and the Knight looks upon 

75 with great satisfaction, because it seems he was but nine 
years old when his dog killed him. A little room ad- 
joining to the hall is a kind of arsenal filled with guns of 
several sizes and inventions, with which the Knight has 
made great havoc in the woods, and destroyed many 

80 thousands of pheasants, partridges, and woodcocks. His 
stable doors are patched with noses that belonged to foxes 
of the Knight's own hunting down. Sir Roger showed 
me one of them that for distinction sake has a brass 
nail struck through it, which cost him about fifteen 

85 hours' riding, carried him through half a dozen counties, 
killed him a brace of geldings, and lost above half his 
dogs. This the Knight looks upon as one of the greatest 
exploits of his life. The perverse Widow, wliom I have 
given some account of, was the death of several foxes ; 

90 for Sir Roger has told me tliat in the course of his amours 
he patched the western door of his stable. AVhenever 
the Widow was cruel, the foxes were sure to pay for it. 
In proportion as his passion for the WidoAV abated and old 
age came on, he left off foxhunting ; but a hare is not 

95 yet safe that sits within ten miles of his house. 

There is no kind of exercise which I would so recom- 
S 



QQ SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 115. 

mend to my readers of both sexes as this of riding, as tliere 
is none which so mnch conduces to health, and is every 
way accommodated to the body, according to the idea 

100 which I have given of it. Doctor Sydenham is very lavish 
in its praises ; and if the English reader will see the 
mechanical effects of it described at length, he may find 
them in a book published not many years since under the 
title of Medicina Gymnastica. For my own part, when I 

105 am in town, for want of these opportunities, I exercise 
myself an hour every morning upon a dumb-bell that is 
placed in a corner of my room, and pleases me the more 
because it does everything I require of it in the most 
profound silence. My landlady and her daughters are so 

110 well acquainted with my hours of exercise, that they never 
come into my room to disturb me whilst I am ringing. 

When I was some years younger than I am at present, 
I used to employ myself in a more laborious diversion, 
which I learned from a Latin treatise of exercises that is 

115 written Avith great erudition ; it is there called the n/.to- 
!J.ayia, or tlic fighting with a man's own shadow, and con- 
sists in the brandishing of two short sticks grasped in 
each hand, and loaded with plugs of lead at either end. 
This opens the chest, exercises the limbs, and gives a 

120 man all the pleasure of boxing, without the blows. I 
could wish that several learned men would lay out that 
time which they employ in controversies and disputes 
about nothing, in this method of fighting with their own 
shadows. It might conduce very much to evaporate the 

125 spleen, which makes them uneasy to the public as well as 
to themselves. 

To conclude, as I am a compound of soul and body, I 
consider myself as obliged to a double scheme of duties ; 
and I think I have not fulfilled the business of the day 

130 when I do not thus employ the one in labour and exercise, 
. as well as the other in study and contemplation. 



No. 116. J SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 67 



XV. THE COVERLEY HUNT. 

No. 116.] Friday, July 13, 1711. [Budgell. 

Vocat ingenti clamor e Cithaeron, 



Taygetique canes — 

Virgil, Georgics, iii. 43. 

Those who have searclied into human nature observe 
that nothing so much shoAVS the nobleness of the soul, as 
that its felicity consists in action. Every man has such 
an active principle in him, that he will find out something 
5 to employ himself upon, in whatever place or state of life 
he is posted. I have heard of a gentleman who was under 
close confinement in the Bastile seven years ; during 
which time he amused himself in scattering a few small 
pins about Jiis chamber, gathering them up again, and 

10 placing them in different figures on the arm of a great 
chair. He often told his friends afterwards, that unless 
he had found out this piece of exercise, he verily believed 
he should have lost his senses. 

After what has been said, I need not inform my readers, 

15 that Sir Roger, with whose character I hope they are at 
present pretty well acquainted, has in his youth gone 
through the whole course of those rural diversions which 
the country abounds in ; and which seem to be extremely 
well suited to that laborious industry a man may observe 

20 here in a far greater degree than in towns and cities. I 
have before hinted at some of my friend's exploits : he 
has in his youthful days taken forty coveys of jjartridges 
in a season ; and tired many a salmon with a line consist- 
ing but of a single hair. The constant thanks and good 

25 wishes of the neighbourhood always attended him on 



68 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 116. 

account of his remarkable enmity towards foxes ; having 
destroyed more of those vermin in one year than it was 
thought the whole country could have produced. Indeed, 
the Knight does not scruple to own among his most in- 

30timate friends, that in order to establish his reputation 
this way, he has secretly sent for great numbers of them 
out of other counties, which he used to turn loose about 
the country by night, tliat he might the better signalize 
himself in their destruction tlie next day. His hunting 

35 horses were the finest and best managed in all these 

parts : his tenants are still full of tlie praises of a gray 

stone horse that unhappily staked himself several years 

since, and was buried with great solemnity in the orchard. 

Sir Eoger, being at present too old for foxhunting, to 

40 keep himself in action, has disposed of his beagles and 
got a pack of stop-hounds. What these want in speed he 
endeavours to make amends for by the deepness of their 
mouths and the variety of their notes, which are suited 
in such manner to each other that the whole cry makes 

45 up a complete concert. He is so nice in this particular, 
that a gentleman having made him a present of a very 
fine hound the other day, the Knight returned it by the 
servant with a great many expressions of civility ; but 
desired him to tell his master that the dog he had sent was 

50 indeed a most excellent bass, but that at present he 
only wanted a counter-tenor. Could I believe my friend 
had ever read Shakespeare, I should certainly conclude 
he had taken the hint from Theseus in The Midsummer 
Nighfs Dream : — 

55 " My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, 

So flew'd, so sanded ; and their heads are hung 
With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; 
Crook-knee'd and dew-lapp'd like Thessalian bulls ; 
Slow in pursuit, but niatch'd in mouths like bells, 

60 Each under each : a cry more tuneable 

Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn." 




— " happy if they could open a gate." 



No. 116.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 69 

Sir Roger is so keen at this sport that he has been out 
almost every day since I came down ; and upon the chap- 
lain's offering to lend me his easy pad, I was prevailed on 

65 yesterday morning to make one of the company. I was 
extremely pleased, as we rid along, to observe the gen- 
eral benevolence of all the neighbourhood towards my 
friend. The farmers' sons thought themselves happy if 
they could open a gate for the good old Knight as he 

70 passed by ; which he generally requited with a nod or a 

smile, and a kind inquiry after their fathers and uncles. 

After we had rid about a mile from home, we came 

upon a large heath, and the sportsmen began to beat. 

They had done so for sometime, when, as I was at a little 

75 distance from the rest of the company, I saw a hare pop 
out from a small furze-brake almost under my horse's 
feet. I marked the way she took, which I endeavoured to 
make the company sensible of by extending my arm ; but 
to no purpose, till Sir Eoger, who knows that none of my 

80 extraordinary motions are insignificant, rode up to me, 
and asked me if puss was gone that way. Upon my 
answering ^^ Yes," he immediately called in the dogs and 
23ut them upon the scent. As tliey were going oif, I heard 
one of the country fellows muttering to his companion 

85 that 'twas a wonder they had not lost all their S2)ort, for 
want of the silent gentleman's crying '^ Stole away !" 

This, with my aversion to leaping hedges, made me 
withdraw to a rising ground, from whence I could have 
the picture of the whole chase, without the fatigue of 

90 keeping in with the hounds. The hare immediately 
threw them above a mile behind her ; but I was pleased 
to find that instead of running straight forwards, or in 
hunter's language, ^^ flying the country," as I was afraid 
she might have done, she wheeled about, and described a 

95 sort of circle round the hill where I had taken my station, 
in such manner as gave me a very distinct view of the 



70 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 116. 

sport. I could see her first pass by, and the dogs some 
time afterwards unravelling the whole track she had 
made, and following her through all her doubles. I was 

100 at the same time delighted in observing that deference 
which the rest of the pack paid to each particular hound, 
according to the character he had acquired amongst them : 
if they were at fault, and an old hound of reputation 
opened but once, he was immediately followed by the 

105 whole cry ; while a raw dog, or one who was a noted liar, 
might have yelped his heart out, without being taken 
notice of. 

The hare now, after having squatted two or three times, 
and been put up again as often, came still nearer to the 

110 place where she was at first started. The dogs pursued 
her, and these -were followed by the jolly Knight, who 
rode upon a white gelding, encompassed by his tenants 
and servants, and cheering his hounds Avith all the gaiety 
of five-and-twenty. One of the sportsmen rode up to 

115 me, and told me that|he was sure the chase was almost at 
an end, because the old dogs, which had hitherto lain 
behind, now headed the pack. The fellow was in the 
right. Our hare took a large field just under us, followed 
by the full cry '^ In view." I must confess the bright- 

120 ness of the weather, the cheerfulness of everything around 
me, the chiding of the hounds, which was returned upon 
us in a double echo from two neighbouring hills, wdth the 
holloaing of the sportsmen, and the sounding of the horn, 
lifted my spirits into a most lively pleasure, which I 

125 freely indulged because I w^as sure it was innocent. If I 
was under any concern, it was on the account of the poor 
hare, that was now quite spent, and almost within the 
reach of her enemies ; when the huntsman, getting for- 
ward, threw down his pole before the dogs. They w^cre 

130 now "within eight yards of that game which they had been 
pursuing for almost as many hours ; yet on the signal 



No. 116. J SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 71 

before-mentioned they all made a sudden stand, and 
though they contmued opening as much as before, durst 
not once attempt to pass beyond the pole. At the same 

135 time Sir Roger rode forward, and alighting, took up the 
hare in his arms ; which he soon delivered u]^ to one of 
his servants with an order, if she could be kept alive, to 
let her go in liis great orchard ; where it seems he has 
several of these prisoners of war, wlio live together in a 

140 very comfortable captivity. I was highly pleased to see 
the discipline of the pack, and the good-nature of the 
Knight, who could not find in his heart to murder a 
creature that had given him so much diversion. 

As we were returning home, I remembered that Mon- 

145sieur Pascal, in his most excellent discourse on The 
Misery of Midi, tells us, that all our endeavours' after 
greatness proceed from nothing but a desire of being 
surrounded by a multitude of 23ersons and affairs tliat 
may hinder us from looking into ourselves, which is a 

150 view we cannot bear. He afterwards goes on to sliow 
that our love of sports comes from the same reason, and 
is particularly severe upon hunting. ^' What," says he, 
'' unless it be to drown thought, can make men throw 
away so much time and pains upon a silly animal, which 

155 they might buy cheaper in the market?" The fore- 
going reflection is certainly just, when a man suffers his 
whole mind to be drawn into his sports, and altogether 
loses himself in the woods ; but does not affect those 
who propose a far more laudable end from this exercise, 

160 1 mean the preservation of health, and keeping all the 
organs of the soul in a condition to execute her orders. 
Had that incomparable person, whom I last quoted, been 
a little more indulgent to himself in this point, the 
world might probably have enjoyed him much longer ; 

165 whereas through too great an application to his studies 
in his youtli, he contracted that ill habit of body, which, 



72 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 116. 

after a tedious sickness, carried him off in the fortieth 
year of his age ; and the whole history we have of his 
life till that time is but one continued account of the 

170 behaviour of a noble soul struggling under innumerable 
pains and distempers. 

For my own part I intend to hunt twice a week during 
my stay with Sir Eoger ; and shall prescribe the moderate 
use of tliis exercise to all my country friends, as the 

175 best kind of physic for mending a bad constitution, and 
preserving a good one. 

I cannot do this better, than in the following lines out 
of Mr. Dryden : — 

" The first physicians by debauch were made ; 
180 Excess began, and sloth sustains the trade. 

By chase our long-lived fathers earned their food ; 

Toil strung the nerves, and purified the blood ; 

But we their sons, a pamper'd race of men. 

Are dwindled down to threescore years and ten. 
185 Better to hunt in fields for liealtn unbought 

Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught. 

The wise for cure on exercise depend : 

God never made His work for man to mend." 



No. 117.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 73 



XVI. THE COVERLEY WITCH. 

No. 117.] Saturday, July 14, 1711. [Addison. 

Ipsi sibi somnia jingunt. 

Virgil, Eclogues, viii. 108. 

There are some opinions in wliicli a man slionld stand 
neuter, without engaging his assent to one side or the 
other. Such a liovering faith as this, wliich refuses to 
settle upon any determination, is absolutely necessary to 
5 a mind that is careful to avoid errors and prepossessions. 
When the arguments press equally on both sides in mat- 
ters that are indifferent to us, the safest method is to 
give up ourselves to neither. 

It is with this temper of mind that I consider the sub- 

10 ject of witchcraft. AVhen I hear the relations that are 
made from all parts of the world, not only from Norway 
and Lapland, from the East and West Indies, but from 
every particular nation in Europe, I cannot forbear 
thinking that there is such an intercourse and commerce 

15 witli evil spirits as that which we express by the name of 
witchcraft. But when I consider that the ignorant and 
credulous parts of the world abound most in these rela- 
tions, and that the persons among us who are supposed to 
engage in such an infernal commerce are people of a weak 

20 understanding and a crazed imagination, and at the same 
time reflect upon the many impostures and delusions of 
this nature that have been detected in all ages, I endeavour 
to suspend my belief till I hear more certain accounts 
than any which have yet come to my knowledge. In 

25 short, when I consider the question, whether there are 
such persons in the world as those we call witches, my 



74 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 117. 

mind is divided between the two opposite opinions ; or 
rather (to speak my thoughts freely) I believe in general 
that there is, and has been, such a thing as witchcraft ; 

30 but at the same time can give no credit to any particular 
instance of it. 

I am engaged in this specuhition by some occurrences 
that I met with yesterday, which I shall give my reader 
an account of at large. As I was walking with my friend 

35 Sir Roger by the side of one of liis woods, an ohl woman 
applied herself to me for my charity. Her dress and 
figure put me in mind of the following description in 
Otway : — 

" In a close lane as I pursued my journey, 
40 I spied a wrinkled hag, with age grown double. 

Picking dry sticks, and mumbling to herself. 

Her eyes with scalding rheum were gall'd and red ; 

Cold palsy shook her head ; her hands seem'd wither'd ; 

And on her crooked shoulders had she wrapp'd 
45 The tatter'd remnants of an old striped hanging, 

Which served to keep her carcase from the cold : 

So there was nothing of a piece about her. 

Her lower weeds were all o'er coarsely patch'd 

With diff' rent colour'd rags, black, red, white, yellow, 
50 And seem'd to speak variety of wretchedness." 

As I was musing on this description, and comparing it 
with the object before me, the Knight told me that this 
very old woman had the reputation of a witch all over the 
country, that her lips were observed to be always in mo- 

55 tion, and that there was not a switch about her house 
which her neiglibours did not believe had carried her sev- 
eral hundreds of miles. If she chanced to stumble, they 
always found sticks or straws that lay in the figure of a 
cross before her. If she made any mistake at church, and 

60 cried Amen in a wrong place, they never failed to con- 
clude that she was saying her prayers backwards. There 



No. 117.J SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 75 

was not a maid in the parish that wonlcl take a pin of 
her, though she would offer a bag of money with it. 
She goes by the name of Moll White, and has made the 

65 country ring Avith several imaginary exploits which are 
palmed upon her. If the dairy maid does not make her 
butter come so soon as slie should have it, Moll White is 
at the bottom of tlie churn. If a horse sweats in the 
stable, Moll White has been upon his back. If a hare 

70 makes an unexpected escape from the hounds, the hunts- 
man curses Moll White. ^^ Xay," says Sir Roger, '^ I 
have known the master of the pack, upon such an occa- 
sion, send one of his servants to see if Moll White had 
been out that morning.^' 

75 Tliis account raised my curiosity so far, that I begged 
my friend Sir Roger to go with me into her hovel, which 
stood in a solitary corner under the side of the wood. 
Upon our first entering Sir Roger winked to me, and 
pointed at sometliing that stood behind the door, which, 

80 upon looking that way, I found to be an old broomstaif. 
At the same time he whispered me in tlie ear to take 
notice of a tabby cat that sat in the chimney corner, which, 
as the old Knight told me, lay under as bad a report as 
Moll White herself ; for besides that Moll is said often 

85 to accompany her in the same shape, the cat is re2:)orted 
to have spoken twice or thrice in her life, and to have 
played several pranks above the capacity of an ordinary 
cat. 

I was secretly concerned to see human nature in so 

90 much wretchedness and disgrace, but at the same time 
could not forbear smiling to hear Sir Roger, who is a 
little puzzled about the old woman, advising her as a 
justice of peace to avoid all communication with the devil, 
and never to hurt any of her neighbours' cattle. We con- 

95 eluded our visit with a bounty, which was very acceptable. 
In our return home, Sir Roger told me that old Moll 



76 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 117. 

had been often brought before him for making children 
spit pins, and giving maids the nightmare ; and that the 
country people would be tossing her into a pond and try- 

100 ing experiments with her every day, if it was not for him 
and his chaplain. 

I have since found uj)on inquiry that Sir Roger was 
several times staggered with the reports that had been 
brought him concerning this old woman, and would fre- 

105 quently have bound her over to the county sessions had 
not his chaplain with much ado persuaded him to the 
contrary. 

I have been the more particular in this account, be- 
cause I hear there is scarce a village in England that has 

110 not a Moll White in it. When an old woman begins to 
dote, and grow chargeable to a parish, she is generally 
turned into a witch, and fills the whole country with 
extravagant fancies, imaginary distempers and terrifying 
dreams. In the mean time, the poor wretch that is the 

115 innocent occasion of so many evils begins to be frighted 
at herself, and sometimes confesses secret commerce and 
familiarities that her imagination forms in a delirious old 
age. This frequently cuts off charity from the greatest 
objects of compassion, and inspires people with a malevo- 

120 lence towards those poor decrepit parts of our species in 
whom human nature is defaced by infirmity and dotage. 



No. 118.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 77 



XVII. SIR ROGER ON THE WIDOW. 

No. 118.] Monday, July 16, 1711. [Steele. 

Hceret lateri lethalis ariindo. 

Virgil, ^neid, iv. 73. 

This agreeable seat is surrounded with so many pleas- 
ing walks which are struck out of a wood in the midst of 
which the house stands, that one can hardly ever be 
weary of rambling from one labyrinth of delight to an- 
5 other. To one used to live in a city the charms of the 
country are so exquisite that the mind is lost in a certain 
transport which raises us above ordinary life, and is yet 
not strong enough to be inconsistent with tranquillity. 
This, stateof mind was I in, ravished with the murmur 

10 of waters, the whisper of breezes, the singing of birds; 
and Avhether I looked up to the heavens, down on the 
earth, or turned to the prospects around me, still struck 
with new sense of pleasure ; when I found by the voice 
of my friend, who walked by me, that we had insensibly 

15 strolled into the grove sacred to the Widow. ^'This 
woman," says he, ^^is of all others the most unintelli- 
gible ; she either designs to marry, or she does not. 
AYhat is the most perplexing of all is, that she doth not 
either say to her lovers she has any resolution against 

20 that condition of life in general, or that she banishes 
them ; but conscious of her own merit, she permits their 
addresses without fear of any ill consequence, or want of 
respect, from their rage or despair. She has that in her 
aspect against which it is impossible to offend. A man 

35 whose thoughts are constantly bent upon so agreeable an 
object must be excused if the ordinary occurrences in 



78 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 118. 

conversation are below his attention. I call her indeed 
perverse^ but, alas ! why do I call her so ? Because her 
superior merit is such, that I cannot approach her with- 

30 out awe, that my heart is checked by too much esteem ; 
I am angry that her charms are not more accessible, that 
I am more inclined to worship than salute her. How 
often have I wished her unhappy that I might have an 
opportunity of serving her ! and how often troubled in 

35 that very imagination, at giving her the pain of being 
obliged ! AYell, I have led a miserable life in secret upon 
her account ; but fancy she would have condescended to 
have some regard for me, if it had not been for that 
watchful animal her confidante. 

40 ^^Of all persons under the sun," continued he, calling 
me by my name, ^' be sure to set a mark upon confi- 
dantes ; they are of all people the most impertinent. 
What is most pleasant to observe in them is that they 
assume to themselves the merit of the persons whom they 

45 have in their custody. Orestilla is a great fortune, and 
in wonderful danger of surprises, therefore full of sus- 
picions of tlie least indifferent thing, particularly careful 
of new acquaintance, and of growing too familiar with 
the old. Themista, her favourite woman, is every whit as 

50 careful of whom she speaks to, and what she says. Let 
the ward be a beauty, her confidante shall treat you witli 
an air of distance ; let her be a fortune, and she assumes 
the suspicious behaviour of her friend and patroness. 
Thus it is that very many of our unmarried women of 

55 distinction are to all intents and purposes married, except 
the consideration of different sexes. They are directly 
under the conduct of their -whisperer ; and think they 
are in a state of freedom, while they can prate with one 
of these attendants of all men in general and still avoid 

60 the man they most like. You do not see one heiress in 
an hundred whose fate does not turn upon this circum- 



No. 118.J SIR ROGER DE COVERLEf f^ 

stance of choosing a confidante. Thus it is that the lady 
is addressed to, presented and flattered, only by proxy, 
in her woman. In my case, how is it possible that — " 

35 Sir Roger Avas proceeding in his harangue, when we 
heard the voice of one speaking very importunately, and 
repeating these words, '^'What, not one smile?" AYe 
.followed the sound till we came to a close thicket, on the 
other side of which we saw a young woman sitting as it 

70 were in a personated sullenness just over a transparent 
fountain. Opposite to her stood Mr. William, Sir 
Roger's master of the game. The Knight whispered me, 
^^Hist, these are lovers." The huntsman looking ear- 
nestly at the shadow of the young maiden in the stream, 

75 ^^ O thou dear picture, if thou couldst remain there in 
the absence of that fair creature, whom you represent in 
the water, how willingly could I stand here satisfied 
for ever, without troubling my dear Betty herself with 
any mention of lier unfortunate William, whom she is 

80 angry with : but alas ! when she pleases to be gone, thou 
wilt also vanish — yet let me talk to thee while thou dost 
stay. Tell my dearest Betty thou dost not more depend 
upon her than does her William : her absence will make 
away with me as well as thee. If she offers to remove 

85 thee. Til jump into these waves to lay hold on thee ; her- 
self, her own dear person, I must never embrace again. 
— Still do you hear me without one smile — it is too much 
to bear." He had no sooner spoke these words but he 
made an offer of throwing himself into the water ; at 

90 which his mistress started up, and at the next instant he 
jumped across the fountain and met her in an embrace. 
She, half recovering from her fright, said in tlie most 
charming voice imaginable, and with a tone of complaint, 
^' I thought how well you would drown yourself. Xo, 

95 no, you w^on't drowni yourself till you have taken your 
leave of Susan HoUiday." The huntsman, with a tender- 



go SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 118. 

ness that spoke the most passionate love, and with his 
cheek close to hers, whispered the softest vows of fidelity 
in her ear, and cried, "Don't, my dear, believe a word 

100 Kate Willow says ; she is spiteful and makes stories, 
because she loves to hear me talk to herself for your 
sake." "Look you there," quoth Sir Roger, "do you 
see there, all mischief comes from confidantes ! But let 
us not interrupt them ; the maid is honest, and the man 

105 dares not be otherwise, for he knows I loved her father ; 
I will interpose in this matter, and hasten the wedding. 
Kate Willow is a witty mischievous wench in the neigh- 
bourhood, who was a beauty ; and makes me hope I shall 
see the perverse Widow in her condition. She was so 

110 flippant with her answers to all the honest fellows that 
came near her, and so very vain of her beauty, that she 
has valued herself upon her charms till they are ceased. 
She therefore now makes it her business to prevent other 
young women from being more discreet than she was 

115 herself ; however, the saucy thing said the other day 
well enough, ^ Sir Roger and I must make a match, for 
we are both despised by those we loved.' The hussy has 
a great deal of power wherever she comes, and has her 
share of cunning. 

130 "However, when I reflect uj^on this woman, I do not. 
know whether in the main I am the worse for having 
loved her ; whenever she is recalled to my imagination my 
youth returns and I feel a forgotten warmth in my veins. 
This affliction in my life has streaked all my conduct with 

125 a softness of which I should otherwise have been incapable. 
It is, perhaps, to this dear image in my heart owing, that 
I am apt to relent, that I easily forgive, and that many 
desirable things are grown into my temper, which I should 
not have arrived at by better motives than the thought of 

130 being one day hers. I am pretty well satisfied such a pas- 
sion as I have had is never well cured ; and between you 



No. 118.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 81 

and me, I am often apt to imagine it has had some whim- 
sical effect upon my brain. For I frequently find, that 
in my most serious discourse I let fall some comical famili- 

135arity of speech or odd phrase that makes the company 
laugli ; however, I cannot but allow she is a most excellent 
woman. When she is in the country, I warrant she does 
not run into dairies, but reads upon the nature of plants ; 
but has a glass hive, and comes into the garden out of 

140 books to see them work, and observe the policies of their 
commonwealth. She understands everything. Td give 
ten pounds to hear her argue with my friend Sir Andrew 
Freeport about trade. No, no, for all she looks so inno- 
cent as it were, take my word for it she is no fool.'' 
6 



32 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 119. 



XVIII. TOWN AND COUNTRY MANNERS. 
No. 119.] Tuesday, July 17, 1711. [Addison. 

ZJrhein qiiam cUcunt Romam, Meliboee, putavi 
Stultus ego huic nostrce siiiiilem — 

Virgil, Eclogues, i. 20. 

The first and most obvious reflections which arise in a 
man who changes the city for tlie country are uj^on the. 
difterent manners of the j^eople whom he meets with in 
those two different scenes of life. By manners I do not 
5 mean morals, but behaviour and good breeding as they show 
themselves in the town and in the country. 

And here, in the first place, I must observe a very great 
revolution that has hapiDened in this article of good breed- 
ing. Several obliging deferences, condescensions, and 

10 submissions, with many outward forms and ceremonies 
that accompany them, were first of all brought np among 
the politer part of mankind, who lived in courts and 
cities, and distinguished themselves from the rustic part 
of the species (who on all occasions acted bluntly and 

15 naturally) by such a mutual complaisance and intercourse 
of civilities. These forms of conversation by degrees 
multiplied and grew troublesome ; the modish world found 
too great a constraint in them, and have therefore thrown 
most of them aside. Conversation, like the Romish re- 

20ligion, was so encumbered with show and ceremony, that 
it stood in need of a reformation to retrench its super- 
fluities, and restore it to its natural good sense and beauty. 
At present therefore an unconstrained carriage, and a 
certain openness of behaviour, are the height of good 

25 breeding. The fashionable world is grown free and easy ; 
our manners sit more loose ui^on us. Nothing is so 



No. 119.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 83 

modish as an agreeable negligence. In a word, good 
breeding shows itself most, where to an ordinary eye it 
appears the least. 

30 If after this we look on the people of mode in the 
country, we find in them the manners of the last age. 
They have no sooner fetched themselves np to the fashion 
of the polite world, but the town has dro2)ped them, and 
are nearer to the first state of nature than to those refine- 

35 ments which formerly reigned in the court, and still pre- 
vail in the country. One may now Iviiow a man that never 
conversed in the world by his excess of good breeding. A 
polite country squire shall make you as man}^ bows in half 
an hour as would serve a courtier for a week. There is infi- 

40nitely more to do about place and jirecedency in a meeting 
of justices' wives than in an assembly of duchesses. 

This rural politeness is very troublesome to a man of 
my temiDcr, who generally take the chair that is next me, 
and walk first or last, in the front or in tlie rear, as 

45 chance directs. I have known my friend Sir Roger's din- 
ner almost cold before the company could adjust the 
ceremonial, and be prevailed upon to sit down ; and have 
heartily pitied my old friend, wdien I have seen him 
forced to pick and cull his guests, as tliey sat at the 

50 several parts of his table, that he might drink their 
healths according to their respective ranks and qualities. 
Honest Will Wimble, who I should have tl] ought had 
been altogether uninfected with ceremony, gives me 
abundance of trouble in this particular. Though he has 

55 been fisliing all the morning, he Avill not help himself at 
dinner till I am served. When we are going out of the 
hall, he runs behind me ; and last night, as we were 
walking in the fields, stopped short at a stile till I came 
up to it, and upon my making signs to him to get over, 

60 told me, with a serious smile, ""^"^^ sure I believed they 
had no manners in the countrv. 



84 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 119. 

There has happened another revolution in the point 
of good breeding, which relates to the conversation among 
men of mode, and which I cannot but look upon as very 

65 extraordinary. It was certainly one of the first dis- 
tinctions of a well-bred man, to express everything that 
had the most remote appearance of being obscene in 
modest terms and distant phrases ; whilst the clown, who 
had no such delicacy of conception and expression, clothed 

70 his ideas in those plain, homely terms that are the most 
obvious and natural. This kind of good manners was 
perhaps carried to an excess, so as to make conversation 
too stiff, formal, and precise ; for which reason (as hypoc- 
risy in one age is generally succeeded by atheism in 

75 another) conversation is in a great measure relapsed into 
the first extreme ; so that at present several of our men 
of the town, and particularly those who have been polished 
in France, make use of the most coarse uncivilized words 
in our language, and utter themselves often in such a 

80 manner as a clown would blush to hear. 

This infamous piece of good breeding, which reigns 
among the coxcombs of the town, has not yet made its 
way into the country ; and as it is impossible for such an 
irrational way of conversation to last long among a people 

85 that make any profession of religion, or show of modesty, 
if the country gentlemen get into it they will certainly 
be left in the lurch. Their good breeding will come too 
late to them, and they will be thought a parcel of lewd 
clowns, while they fancy themselves talking together like 

90 men of wit and pleasure. 

As the two points of good breeding which I have 
hitherto insisted upon regard behaviour and conversation, 
there is a third, which turns upon dress. In this, too, 
the country are very much behindhand. The rural 

95 beans are not yet got out of the fashion that took place 
at the time of the Revolution, but ride about the country 



No. 119.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 85 

in red coats and laced hats, while the women in many 
parts are still trying to ontvie one another in the height 
of their head-dresses. 

100 But a friend of mine, who is now upon the western 
circuit, having promised to give me an account of the 
several modes and fashions that prevail in the different 
parts of the nation through whicli he passes, I shall defer 
the enlarging upon this last topic till I have received a 

105 letter from him, which I expect every post. 



86 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 120. 



XIX. INSTINCT IN ANIMALS. 
No, 120.] Wednesday, July 18, 1711. [Addison. 

-Equidem credo, quia sit divinitus illis 



Ingenium — 

Virgil, Georgics, i. 451. 

My friend Sir Roger is very often merry witli me upon 
my passing so mneli of my time among his poultry. He 
has caught me twice or thrice looking after a bird's nest, 
and several times sitting an hour or two together near an 
5 hen and chickens. He tells me he believes I am person- 
ally acquainted with every fowl about his house ; calls such 
a particular cock my favourite, and frequently complains 
that his ducks and geese have more of my company than 
himself. 

10 I must confess I am infinitely delighted with those spec- 
ulations of nature which are to be made in a country 
life ; and as my reading has very much lain among books 
of natural history, I cannot forbear recollecting upon this 
occasion the several remarks which I have met with in 

15 authors, and comparing them with what falls under my 
own observation : the arguments for Providence drawn 
from the natural history of animals being in my opinion 
demonstrative. 

The make of every kind of animal is different from 

20 that of every other kind ; and yet there is not the least 
turn in the muscles or twist in the fibres of any one, which 
does not render them more proper for that particular 
animal's way of life than any other cast or texture of them 
would have been. 

25 The most violent appetites in all creatures are lust and 



No. 120.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 87 

hunger. The first is a perpetual call upon them to prop- 
agate their kind ; the latter to preserve themselves. 

It is astonishing to consider tlie different degrees of 
care that descend from the parent to the young, so far as 

30 is absolutely necessary for the leaving a posterity. Some 
jcreatures cast their eggs as chance directs them, and think 
of them no farther, as insects and several kinds of fish ; 
others, of a nicer frame, find out proper beds to deposit 
them in, and there leave them, as the serpent, the croco- 

35dile, and ostrich ; others hatch tlieir eggs and tend the 
birth, till it is able to sliift for itself. 

What can we call the principle which directs every difl'er- 
ent kind of bird to observe a particular plan in the struc- 
ture of its nest, and directs all of the same species to work 

40 after the same model ? It cannot be imitation ; for though 
you hatch a crow under a hen, and never let it see any of 
the works of its own kind, the nest it makes shall be the 
same, to the laying of a stick, with all the other nests of 
the same species. It cannot be reason ; for were animals 

45 indued with it to as great a degree as man, their buildings 
would be as different as ours, according to the different 
conveniences that they would propose to themselves. 

Is it not remarkable, that the same temper of wea- 
ther, which raises this genial warmth in animals, should 

50 cover the trees with leaves, and the fields with grass, for 
their security and concealment, and produce such infi- 
nite swarms of insects for the support and sustenance of 
their respective broods ? 

Is it not wonderful that the love of the parent should 

55 be so violent while it lasts, and that it should last no 
longer than is necessary for the preservation of the 
young ? 

But notwithstanding this natural love in brutes is much 
more violent and intense than in rational creatures, Prov- 

60 idence has taken care that it should be no longer trouble- 



88 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 130. 

some to the parent than it is useful to the young ; for so 
soon as the wants of the latter cease, the mother with- 
draws her fondness, and leaves them to provide for them- 
selves ; and what is a very remarkable circumstance in 

65 this part of instinct, we find that the love of the parent 
may be lengtliened out beyond its usual time, if the pres- 
ervation of the species requires it : as we may see in 
birds that drive away their young as soon as they are able 
to get their livelihood, but continue to feed them if they 

70 are tied to the nest, or confined within a cage, or by any 
other means apjoear to be out of a condition of supplying 
their own necessities. 

This natural love is not observed in animals to ascend 
from the young to tlie parent, wliich is not at all necessary 

75 for the continuance of the species ; nor indeed in reason- 
able creatures does it rise in any proj^ortion, as it spreads 
itself downwards ; for in all family affection, we find 
protection granted and favours bestowed are greater 
motives to love and tenderness than safety, benefits, or 

80 life received. 

One would wonder to hear skeptical men disputing for 
the reason of animals, and telling us it is only our pride 
and prejudices that will not allow them tlie use of tluit 
faculty. 

85 Eeason shows itself in all occurrences of life ; whereas 
the brute makes no discovery of such a talent, but in what 
immediately regards his own preservation or the continu- 
ance of his species. Animals in their generation are 
wiser than the sons of men ; but their wisdom is confined 

90 to a few particulars, and lies in a very narrow compass. 
Take a brute out of liis instinct, and you find him wholly 
deprived of understanding. To use an instance that 
comes often under observation : 

With what caution does the hen provide lierself a nest 

95 in places unfrequented, and free from ngise and disturb- 



/ 
No. 120.] SIR ROGER JDE COVERLEY 89 

ance ! When she lias laid Tier eggs in such a manner that 
she can cover them, what care does she take in turning 
them frequently, tliat all parts may partake of the vital 
warmth ! When she leaves them, to provide for her neces- 

lOOsary sustenance, how punctually does she return before 
they have time to cool, and become incapable of produ- 
cing an animal ! In the summer you see her giving her- 
self greater freedoms, and quitting her care for above 
two hours together ; but in winter, when the rigour of the 

105 season would chill the principles of life, and destroy the 
young one, she grows more assiduous in her attendance, 
and stays aAvay bub lialf the time. AYhen the birth ap- 
proaches, with how much nicety and attention does she 
help the chick to break its prison ! not to take notice of 

110 her covering it from the injuries of the weather, provid- 
ing it proper nourishment, and teaching it to help itself ; 
nor to mention her forsaking the nest, if after the usual 
time of reckoning the young one does not make its ap- 
pearance. A chemical operation could not be followed 

115 with greater art or diligence than is seen in the hatching 
of a chick ; though there are many other birds tliat show 
an infinitely greater sagacity in all the forementioned 
particulars. 

But at the same time the hen, that has all this seeminsf 

120 ingenuity (which is indeed absolutely necessary for the 
propagation of the species), considered in other respects, 
is without the least glimmerings of thought or common 
sense. She mistakes a piece of chalk for an egg, and 
sits upon it in the same manner ; slie is insensible of any 

125 increase or diminution in the number of those she lays ; 
she does not distinguish between her own and those of 
another species ; and when the birth appears of pever so 
different a bird, will cherish it for her own. In all these 
circumstances which do not carry an immediate regard to 

130 tlie subsistence of herself or her species, she is a very idiot. 



90 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 120. 

There is not, in my opinion, anything more mysterious 
in nature than this instinct in animals, which thus rises 
above reason, and falls infinitely sliort of it. It cannot 
be accounted for by any properties in matter, and at the 

135 same time works after so odd a manner, that one cannot 
think it the faculty of an intellectual being. For my 
own part, I look upon it as upon the principle of grav- 
itation in bodies, which is not to be explained by any 
known qualities inherent in the bodies themselves, nor 

140 from any laws of mechanism, but according to the best 
notions of the greatest philosophers is an immediate im- 
jiression from the first Mover, and the Divine energy 
acting in the creatures. 



No. 121.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 91 



XX. INSTINCT IN ANIMALS. 

No. 121.] Thursday, July 19, 1711. [Addison. 

Jovis omnia plena. 

Virgil Eclogues, iii. 60. 

As I was walking this morning in the great yard that 
belongs to my frieiid^s country honse, I was wonderfully 
pleased to see the different workings of instinct in a hen 
followed by a brood of ducks. The young, upon the sight 
5 of a pond, immediately ran into it ; while the stepmother, 
with all imaginable anxiety, hovered about the borders of 
it, to call them out of an element that appeared to her 
so dangerous and destructive. As the different principle 
which acted in these different animals cannot be termed 

10 reason, so, when we call it instinct, we mean something 
we have no knowledge of. To me, as I hinted in my last 
paper, it seems the immediate direction of Providence, 
and such an operation of the Supreme Being, as that 
which determines all the portions of matter to their prop- 

15 er centres. A modern pliilosopher, quoted by Monsieur 
Bayle in his learned Dissertation o)i the Souls of Brutes, 
delivers the same opinion, though in a bolder form of 
words, where he says, Beus est anima Irutorum, — '^ God 
himself is the soul of brutes.'' Who can tell what to call 

20 that seeming sagacity in animals, which directs them to 
such food as is proper for them, and makes them naturally 
avoid whatever is noxious or unwholesome ? Tully has 
observed that a lamb no sooner falls from its mother, but 
immediately and of his own accord applies itself to the 

25 teat. Dampier, in his Travels, tells us that, when seamen 
are thrown upon any of the unknown coasts of America, 



02 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 121. 

they never venture upon the fruit of any tree, how tempt- 
ing soever it may appear, unless they observe that it is 
marked with the pecking of birds ; but fall on without 

30 any fear or aj)prehension where the birds have been 
before them. 

But notwithstanding animals have nothing like the use of 
reason, we find in them all the lower parts of our nature, 
the passions and senses, in their greatest strength and 

35 perfection. And here it is worth our observation, that 
all beasts and birds of prey are wonderfully subject to 
anger, malice, revenge, and all the other violent passions 
that may animate them in search of their proper food ; 
as those that are incapable of defending themselves, or 

40 annoying others, or whose safety lies chiefly in their 
flight, are suspicious, fearful and apprehensive of every- 
thing they see or hear ; whilst others that are of assist- 
ance and use to man, have their natures softened with 
something mild and tractable, and by that means are 

45 qualified for a domestic life. In this case the passions 
generally corresjjond with the make of the body. We do 
not find the fury of a lion in so weak and defenceless an 
animal as a lamb, nor the meekness of a lamb in a crea- 
ture so armed for battle and assault as the lion. In the 

50 same manner, we find that particular animals have a more 
or less exquisite sharpness and sagacity in those particu- 
lar senses which most turn to their advantage, and in 
which their safety and welfare is the most concerned. 
Nor must we here omit that great variety of arms with 

55 which nature has differently fortified the bodies of several 
kinds of animals, such as claws, hoofs and horns, teeth 
and tusks, a tail, a sting, a trunk, or a proboscis. It is like- 
wise observed by naturalists, that it must be some hidden 
principle, distinct from what we call reason, which in- 

60 structs animals in the use of these their arms, and teaches 
them to manage them to the best advantage ; because 



No. 121.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 93 

they naturally defend themselves with that part in which 
their strength lies, before the wea23on be formed in it ; as 
is remarkable in lambs, whicli, though they are bred 

65 within doors, and never saw the actions of iheir own 
sj^ecies, push at those who approach them with their 
foreheads, before the first budding of a liorn appears. 

I shall add to these general observations an instance, 
which Mr. Locke has given us, of Providence even in the 

70 imperfections of a creature which seems tlie meanest and 
the most despicable in the whole animal world. ^* We 
may,^^ says he, " from the make of an oyster or cockle, con- 
clude that it has not so many nor so quick senses as a man, 
or several other animals ; nor if it had, would it, in that 

75 state and incapacity of transferring itself from one place to 
another, be bettered by them. What good would sight and 
hearing do to a creature, that cannot move itself to or 
from the object, wherein at a distance it perceives good or 
evil ? And would not quickness of sensation be an in- 

80 convenience to an animal that must be still where chance 
has once placed it, and there receive the afflux of colder 
or warmer, clean or foul water, as it happens to come to 
it?" 

I shall add to this instance out of Mr. Locke another 

85 out of the learned Dr. More, who cites it from Cardan, 
in relation to another animal Avhich Providence has left 
defective, but at the same time has shown its wisdom in 
the formation of that organ in which it seems chiefly to 
have failed. " What is more obvious and ordinary than 

90 a mole ? and yet what more palpable argument of Provi- 
dence than she ? The members of her body are so 
exactly fitted to her nature and manner of life : for her 
dwelling being under ground, where nothing is to be seen, 
nature has so obscurely fitted her with eyes, that natural- 

95ists can hardly agree whether she have any sight at all 
or no. But for amends, what she is capable of for her 



94 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 121. 

defence and warning of danger, she has very eminently 
conferred npon her ; for she is exceeding quick of hear- 
ing. And tlien her short tail and short legs, but broad 

100 fore-feet armed with sharp claws, — we see by tlie event to 
what purpose they are, she so swiftly working herself 
under ground, and making her way so fast in the earth, 
as they that behold it cannot but admire it. Her legs 
therefore are short, tliat she need dig no more than will 

105 serve the mere thickness of her body ; and her fore-feet 
are broad, that she may scoop away much earth at a time ; 
and little or no tail slie has, because she courses it not 
on the ground like the rat or mouse, of whose kindred she 
is, but lives nnder the earth, and is fain to dig herself a 

110 dwelling there. And she making her way through so 
thick an element, which will not yield easily, as the air or 
the water, it had been dangerous to have drawn so long a 
train behind her ; for her enemy might fall upon her 
rear, and fetch her out before she had completed or got 

115 full possession of her works." 

I cannot forbear mentioning Mr. Boyle's remark upon 
this last creature, who I remember somewhere in his 
works observes, that though the mole be not totally blind 
(as it is commonly thought) she has not sight enough to 

130 distinguish particular objects. Her eye is said to have 
but one humour in it, which is supposed to give her the 
idea of light, but of nothing else, and is so formed that 
this idea is probably painful to the animal. Whenever 
she comes up into broad day she might be in danger of 

125 being taken, unless she were thus affected by a light 
striking upon her eye, and immediately warning her to 
bury herself in her proper element. More sight would 
be useless to her, as none at all might be fatal. 

I have only instanced such animals as seem the most 

130 imperfect works of nature ; and if Providence shows itself 
even in the blemishes of these creatures, how much more 



No. 121. J SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY . 95 

does it discover itself in the several endowments which it 
has variously bestowed upon such creatures as are more or 
less finished and completed in their several faculties, 

135 according to the condition of life in which they are 
posted. 

I could wish our Eoyal Society would compile a body 
of natural history, the best that could be gathered to- 
gether from books and observations. If the several 

140 writers among them took each his particular species, and 
gave us a distinct account of its original, birth, and edu- 
cation, its policies, hostilities, and alliances, with the 
frame and texture of its inward and outward parts, and 
particularly those that distinguish it from all other 

145 animals, witli their peculiar aptitudes for the state of 
being in which Providence has placed them, it would be 
one of the best services their studies could do mankind, 
and not a little redound to the glory of the all-wise Con- 
triver. 

150 It is true such a natural history, after all the disqui- 
sitions of the learned, would be infinitely short and defect- 
ive. Seas and deserts hide millions of animals from our 
observation. Innumerable artifices and stratagems are 
acted in the "howling wilderness" and in the "great 

155 deep," that can never come to our knowledge. Besides 
that there are infinitely more species of creatures which 
are not to be seen without nor indeed Avitli the helji of 
the finest glasses, than of such as are bulky enough for 
the naked eye to take hold of. However, from the con- 

160 sideration of such animals as lie within the compass of 
cur knowledge, we might easily form a conclusion of tlie 
rest, that the same variety of wisdom and goodness runs 
through the whole creation and puts every creature in a 
condition to provide for its safety and subsistence in its 

165 proper station. 

Tully has given us an admirable sketch of natural 



^Q SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 121. 

history in bis second book concerning The Nature of 
the Gods ; and tbat in a style so raised by metaphors 
and descriptions, that it lifts the subject above raillery 
170 and ridicule, which frequently fall on such nice observa- 
tions when they pass through the hands of an ordinary 
writer. 



No. 122.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 97 



XXI. SIR ROGER AT THE ASSIZES, 

No. 122.] Friday, July 20, 1711. [Addison. 

Comes jucundus in via pro vehiciilo est. 

PUBLILTS Syrus, Fragments. 

A majn^'s first care should be to avoid the reproaches 
of his own heart ; his next to escape the censures of the 
world. If the last interferes with the former, it ought 
to be entirely neglected ; but otherwise there cannot be 
5 a greater satisfaction to an honest mind than to see those 
approbations which it gives itself seconded by the ap- 
plauses of the public. A man is more sure of his con- 
duct when the verdict which he passes upon his own 
behaviour is thus warranted and confirmed by the opinion 

10 of all that know him. 

My worthy friend Sir Roger is one of those who is not 
only at peace within himself, but beloved and esteemed by 
all about him. He receives a suitable tribute for his uni- 
versal benevolence to mankind in the returns of affection 

15 and good-will which are paid him by every one that lives 
within his neighbourhood. I lately met with two or three 
odd instances of that general respect which is shown 
to the good old Knight. He would needs carry Will 
Wimble and myself with him to the county assizes. As 

20 we were upon the road, Will Wimble joined a couple of 
plain men who rid before us, and conversed with them 
for some time ; during which my friend Sir Roger ac- 
quainted me with their characters. 

" The first of them," says he, " that has a spaniel by 

25 his side, is a yeoman of about an hundred pounds a year, 
an honest man. He is just within tlie Game Act, and 
7 



98 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 122. 

qualified to kill an hare or a pheasant. He knocks down 
a dinner with his gun twice or thrice a week ; and hy 
that means lives much cheaper than those who have not 

30 so good an estate as himself. He would be a good 
neighbour if he did not destroy so many partridges ; in 
short, lie is a very sensible man, shoots flying, and has 
been several times foreman of the petty jury. 

^' The other that rides along with him is Tom Touchy, 

35 a fellow famous for taking the law of everybody. There 
is not one in the town where he lives that he has not sued 
at a quarter sessions. The rogue had once the impudence 
to go to law with the Widow. His head is full of costs, 
damages, and ejectments ; he plagued a couple of honest 

40 gentlemen so long for a trespass in breaking one of his 
hedges, till he was forced to sell the ground it enclosed 
to defray the charges of the prosecution. His father left 
him fourscore j^ounds a year, but he has cast and been 
cast so often that he is not now worth tJiirty. I suppose 

45 he is going upon the old business of the willow tree."' 

As Sir Roger was giving me tliis account of Tom 

Touchy, Will Wimble and his two companions stopped 

short till we came up to them. After having paid their 

respects to Sir Roger, AYill told him that Mr. Touchy and 

50 he must appeal to him upon a dispute that arose between 
them. Will, it seems, had been giving his fellow-traveller 
an account of his angling one day in such a hole ; when 
Tom Toucliy, instead of hearing out his story, told him 
that Mr. Such-an-one, if he pleased, miglit take the law 

55 of him for fishing in that part of the river. My friend 
Sir Roger heard them both, u2)on a round trot ; and 
after having paused some time, told them, with the air 
of a man wlio would not give his judgment rashly, that 
much might be said on both sides. They were neither 

60 of them dissatisfied with the Knight's determination, 
because neither of them found himself in the wrong by 



No. 122.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 99 

it. Upon which Ave made the best of our way to the 
assizes. 

The court was sat before Sir Eoger came ; but iiot- 

65 withstanding all the justices had taken their places upon 
the bench, they made room for the old Knight at the 
head of them ; who, for his reputation in the country, 
took occasion to whisper in the judge^s ear, that he was 
glad his lordship had met with so much good weather 

70 in his circuit. I was listening to the proceeding of the 
court with much attention, and infinitely pleased with 
that great appearance and solemnity which so properly 
accompanies such a public administration of our laws ; 
when, after about an hour's sitting, I observed, to my 

75 great surprise, in the midst of atrial, that my friend 
Sir Roger was getting up to speak. I was in some pain 
for him, till I found he had acquitted himself of two or 
three sentences, with a look of much business and great 
intrepidity. 

80 Upon his first rising the court was hushed, and a gen- 
eral whisper ran among the country people that Sir Roger 
was up. The speech he made was so little to the purpose, 
that I shall not trouble my readers with an account of it ; 
and I believe was not so much designed by the Knight 

85 himself to inform the court, as to give him a figure in my 
eye, and keep up his credit in the country. 

I was highly delighted, when the court rose, to see the 
gentlemen of the country gathering about my old friend 
and striving who should complimeiit him most ; at the 

90 same time that the ordinary jieojole gazed upon him at a 
distance, not a little admiring his courage, that was not 
afraid to speak to the judge. 

In our return home we met with a very odd accident, 
which I cannot forbear relating, because it shows how 

95 desirous all who know Sir Roger are of giving him marks 
of their esteem. When we were arrived upon the verge 



100 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET [No. 122. 

of liis estate, we stopped at a little inn to rest ourselves 
and our horses. The man of tlie house had, it seems, 
been formerly a servant in the Knight's family ; and to 

100 do honour to his old master, had some time since, unknown 
to Sir Roger, put him up in a sign-post before the door ; 
so that the Knight's head had hung out upon the road 
about a week before lie himself knew anything of the 
matter. As soon as Sir Roger was acquainted with it, 

105 finding that his servant's indiscretion proceeded wholly 
from affection and good- will, he only told him that he 
had made him too liigh a compliment ; and when the 
fellow seemed to think that could hardly be, added, with 
a more decisive look, that it was too great an honour for 

110 any man under a duke ; but told him at the same time 
that it might be altered with a very few touches, and that 
he himself would be at the charge of it. Accordingly 
they got a painter, by tlie Knight's directions, to add a 
pair of whiskers to the face, and by a little aggravation 

115 of the features to change it into the Saracen's Head. I 
should not have known this story had not the innkeeper, 
upon Sir Roger's alighting, told him in my hearing, that 
his honour's head was brought back last niglit with the 
alterations that he had ordered to be made in it. Upon 

120 this my friend, with his usual cheerfulness, related the 
particulars above mentioned, and ordered the head to be 
brought into the room. I could not forbear discovering 
greater expressions of mirth than ordinary upon the 
appearance of tliis monstrous face, under which, not- 

125 withstanding it was made to frown and stare in a most 
extraordinary manner, I could still discover a distant 
resemblance of my old friend. Sir Roger, upon seeing 
me laugh, desired me to tell him truly if I thought it 
possible for people to know him in that disguise. I at 

130 first kept my usual silence ; but upon the Knight's con- 
juring me to tell him whether it was not still more like 



No. 122.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY lOl 

himself than a Saracen, I composed my countenance in 
the best manner I could, and replied that much might be 
said on both sides. 
135 These several adventures, with the Knight's behaviour 
in them, gave me as pleasant a day as ever I met with in 
any of my travels. 



102 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 123. 



XXII. THE EDUCATION OF AN HEIR. 

No. 123.] Saturday, July 21, 1711. [Addison. 

Doctrina sed vim promovet insitam 
Rectique cultus pectora roborant : 

Utcunque defecere mores, 

Dedecorant bene nata culpoe. 

Horace, Ode iv. 4. 33. 

As I was yesterday taking the air with my friend Sir 
Roger, we were met by afresh-coloured, ruddy young man, 
who rid by us full speed, with a couple of servants be- 
hind him. Upon my inquiry who he was, Sir Roger told 

5 me that he was a young gentleman of a considerable 
estate, who had been educated by a tender mother, that 
lives not many miles from the place where we were. She 
is a very good lady, says my friend, but took so much 
care of her son's health, that she has made him good for 

lOnothiug. She quickly found that reading was bad for 
his eyes, and that writing made his head ache. He was 
let loose among tlie woods as soon as he was able to ride 
on horseback, or to carry a gun upon his shoulder. To 
be brief, I found by my friend's account of him, that he 

15 had got a great stock of health, but nothing else ; and 
that if it were a man's business only to live, there would 
not be a more accomplished young fellow in the whole 
country. 

The truth of it is, since my residing in these parts I 

20 have seen and heard innumerable instances of young heirs 
and elder brothers, who either from their own reflecting 
upon the estates they are born to, and therefore thinking 
all other accomplishments unnecessary, or from hearing 



No. 123.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 103 

these notions frequently inculcated to them by the flattery 

25 of their servants and domestics, or from the same foolish 
thought prevailing in those wlio have the care of their 
education, are of no manner of use but to keep up their 
families, and transmit their lands and houses in a line to 
posterity. 

30 This makes me often think on a story I have heard of 
two friends, which I shall give my reader at large, under 
feigned names. The moral of it may, I hope,, be useful, 
tliough there are some circumstances which make it 
rather appear like a novel than a true story. 

35 Eudoxus and Leontine began the world with small 
estates. They were botli of them men of good sense and 
great virtue. They prosecuted their studies together in 
their earlier years, and entered into such a friendship as 
lasted to the end of their lives. Eudoxus, at his first 

40 setting out in the world, threw himself into a court, where 
by his natural endowments and his acquired abilities he 
made his way from one post to another, till at length he 
had raised a very considerable fortune. Leontine, on the 
contrary, sought all opportunities of improving his mind 

45 by study, conversation, and travel. He was not only 
acquainted with all the sciences, but with the most 
eminent professors of tliem throughout Europe. lie 
knew perfectly well the interests of its princes, with 
the customs and fasliions of their courts, and could scarce 

50 meet with the name of an extraordinary person in The 
Gazette whom he had not either talked to or seen. In 
short, he had so well mixed and digested his knowledge 
of men and books, that he made one of the most accom- 
plished persons of his age. During the whole course of 

55 his studies and travels he kept up a punctual correspond- 
ence with Eudoxus, who often made himself acceptable to 
the principal men about court by the intelligence which 
he received from Leontine. When they were both turned 



104 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 123. 

of forty (an age in which, according to Mr. Cowley, 

60 ^' there is no dallying with life ") they determined, pur- 
suant to the resolution they had taken in the beginning 
of their lives, to retire, and pass the remainder of tlieir 
days in the country. In order to tliis, they both of them 
married much about the same time. Leontine, with his 

65 own and his wife's fortune, bought a farm of three hun- 
dred a year, which lay within the neighbourhood of his 
friend Eudoxus, who had purchased an estate of as many 
tiiousands. They were both of them fathers about the same 
time, Eudoxus having a son born to liim, and Leontine a 

70 daughter ; but to the unspeakable grief of the latter, his 
young wife, in whom all his happiness was wrapt up, 
died in a few days after the birth of her daughter. Ilis 
affliction would have been insupportable, had not lie been 
comforted by the daily visits and conversations of his 

75 friend. As they Avere one day talking together with their 
usual intimacy, Leontine considering how incapable he 
was of giving his daughter a proper education in his own 
house, and Eudoxus reflecting on the ordinary behaviour 
of a son who knows himself to be the heir of a great 

80 estate, they both agreed upon an exchange of children ; 
namely, that the boy sliould be bred up with Leontine as 
his son, and that the girl should live with Eudoxus as his 
daughter, till they were each of them arrived at years of 
discretion. The wife of Eudoxus, knowing that her son 

85 could not be so advantageously brought up as under the 
care of Leontine, and considering at the same time that 
he would be perpetually under her own eye, was by 
degrees prevailed upon to fall in with the project. She 
therefore took Leonilla, for that was the name of the girl, 

90 and educated her as her own daughter. The two friends 
on each side had wrouglit themselves to such an habitual 
tenderness for the children who were under their direc- 
tion, that each of them had tlie real passion of a father 



No. 123. J SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 105 

where the title was but imaginary. Florio, the name of 
95 the young heir that lived with Leontine, though he had 
all tlie duty and affection imaginable for his supposed 
parent, was taught to rejoice at the sight of Eudoxus, 
who visited his friend very frequently, and was dictated 
by his natural affection, as well as by the rules of pru- 

100 dence, to make himself esteemed and beloved by Florio. 
The boy was now old enough to know his supposed father's 
circumstances, and that therefore lie was to make his 
way in the world by his own industry. This consider- 
ation grew stronger in him every day, and produced so 

105 good an effect, that he applied himself with more than 
ordinary attention to the pursuit of everything which 
Leontine recommended to him. His natural abilities, 
which were very good, assisted by the directions of so 
excellent a counsellor, enabled him to make a quicker 

110 progress than ordinary through all the parts of his educa- 
tion. Before he was twenty years of age, having finished 
his studies and exercises with great applause, he was re- 
moved from the university to the Inns of Court, where 
there are very few that make themselves considerable 

115 proficients in the studies of the place who know they 
shall arrive at great estates without them. This was not 
Florio's case ; he found that three hundred a year was 
but a poor estate for Leontine and himself to live uj^on, 
so that he studied without intermission till he gained a 

120 very good insight into the constitution and laws of his 
country. 

I should have told my reader that whilst Florio lived 
at the house of his foster-father he was always an accept- 
able guest in the family of Eudoxus, where he became 

125 acquainted with Leonilla from her infancy. His acquaint- 
ance with her by degrees grew into love, which in a mind 
trained up in all the sentiments of honour and virtue 
became a very uneasy passion. He despaired of gaining 



106 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 123. 

au heiress of so great a fortune, and would rather have 

130 died than attempted it by any indirect methods. Leo- 
nilhi, who was a woman of the greatest beauty joined with 
the greatest modesty, entertained at the same time a secret 
passion for Florio, but conducted herself with so much 
prudence that she never gave him the least intimation of 

135 it. Florio Avas now engaged in all those arts and improve- 
ments that are proper to raise a man's private fortune, 
and give him a figure in his country, but secretly tor- 
mented with that passion which burns with the greatest 
fury in a virtuous and noble heart, when he received a 

140 sudden summons from Leontine to repair to him into the 
country the next day. For it seems Eudoxus was so 
filled Avith the report of his son's reputation, that he 
could no longer withhold making himself known to him. 
The morning after his arrival at the house of his sup- 

145 posed father, Leontine told him that Eudoxus had some- 
thing of great importance to communicate to him ; upon 
which the good man embraced him and wept. Florio 
was no sooner arrived at the great house that stood in his 
neighbourhood, but Eudoxus took him by the hand, after 

150 the first salutes were over, and conducted him into his 
closet. He tliere opened to him the whole secret of his 
parentage and education, concluding after this manner : 
^' I have no other way left of acknowledging my gratitude 
to Leontine, than by marrying you to his daughter. He 

155 shall not lose tlie pleasure of being your father by the 
discovery I have made to you. Leonilla, too, shall be 
still my daughter ; her filial piety, though misplaced, has 
been so exemplary that it deserves the greatest reward I 
can confer upon it. You shall have the pleasure of see- 

160 ing a great estate fall to you, wliicli you would have lost 
the relish of had you known yourself born to it. Con- 
tinue only to deserve it in tlie same manner you did 
before you were possessed of it. I have left your mother 



No. 123.] SIR HOGER DE COVERLEY 107 

in the next room. Her heart yearns toward you. She is 
165 making the same discoveries to Leonilla which I have 
made to yourself." Florio was so overwhelmed with this 
profusion of happiness, that he was not able to make a 
reply, but threw himself down at his father's feet, and 
amidst a flood of tears kissed and embraced his knees, 
170 asking his blessing, and expressing in dumb show those 
sentiments of love, duty, and gratitude that were too big 
for utterance. To conclude, the happy pair were mar- 
ried, and half Eudoxus's estate settled upon them. 
Jjeontine and Eudoxus passed the remainder of their 
175 lives tosfether : and received in the dutiful and affec- 
tionate behaviour of Florio and Leonilla the just recom- 
pense, as well as the natural effects, of that care which 
they had bestowed upon them in their education. 



108 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 125. 



XXIII. THE MISCHIEFS OF PARTY SPIRIT. 

No. 125.] Tuesday, July 24, 1711. [Addison. 

Nepueri, ne tanta animis assuescite bella : 
Neu patriae validas in viscera vertite vires. 

Virgil, ^neid, vi. 832. 

My worthy friend Sir Roger, when we are talking of 
the malice of parties, very frequently tells us an accident 
that happened to him when he was a schoolboy, which 
was at a time when the feuds ran high between the 
5 Roundheads and Cavaliers. This worthy Knight, being 
then but a stripling, had occasion to inquire which was 
the way to St. Anne's Lane, upon which the person whom 
he spoke to, instead of answering his question, called him 
a young Popish cur, and asked him who had made Anne 

10 a saint. The boy, being in some confusion, inquired of 
the next he met, which was the Avay to Anne's Lane ; but 
was called a prick-eared cur for his pains, and instead of 
being shown the way, was told that she had been a saint 
before he was born, and would be one after he was 

15 hanged. ^^Upon this," says Sir Roger, ^'I did not think 
fit to repeat the former question, but going into every 
lane of the neighbourhood, asked what they called the 
name of that lane." By which ingenious artifice he 
found out the ^^lace he inquired after, without giving 

20 offence to any party. Sir Roger generally closes this nar- 
rative with reflections on the mischief that parties do in 
the country ; how they spoil good neighbourhood, and make 
honest gentlemen hate one another ; besides that they 
manifestly tend to the prejudice of the land tax, and the 

25 destruction of the game. 



No. 125.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 109 

There cannot a greater judgment befall a country than 
such a dreadful spirit of division as rends a government 
into two distinct people, and makes them greater strangers 
and more averse to one another, than if they were actually 

30 two diiferent nations. The effects of such a division are 
pernicious to the last degree, not only with regard to 
those advantages which they give the common enemy, but 
to those private evils which they produce in the heart of 
almost every particular person. This influence is very 

35 fatal both to men's morals and their understandings ; it 
sinks the virtue of a nation, and not only so, but destroys 
even common sense. 

A furious party spirit, when it rages in its full violence, 
exerts itself in civil war and bloodshed ; and when it 

40 is under its greatest restraints naturally breaks out in 
falsehood, detraction, calumny, and a partial administra- 
tion of justice. In a word, it fills a nation with spleen 
and rancour, and extinguishes all the seeds of good- 
nature, compassion, and humanity. 

45 Plutarch says very finely, that a man should not allow 
himself to hate even his enemies, because, says he, if you 
indulge this passion in some occasions, it will rise of 
itself in others ; if you hate your enemies, you will con- 
tract such a vicious habit of mind, as by degrees will 

50 break out upon those who are your friends, or those who 
are indifferent to you. I might here observe how admi- 
rably this precept of morality (which derives the malig- 
nity of hatred from the passion itself, and not from its ob- 
ject) answers to that great rule which was dictated to the 

55 world about an hundred years before this philosopher 
wrote ; but instead of that, I shall only take notice, with 
a real grief of heart, that the minds of many good men 
among us appear soured with party principles, and alien- 
ated from one another in such a manner, as seems to 

60 me altogether inconsistent with the dictates either of rea- 



110 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 125. 

son or religion. Zeal for a public cause is apt to breed 
passions in the hearts of virtuous persons^ to wliich the 
regard of their own private interest would never have 
betrayed them. 

65 If this party spirit has so ill an effect on our morals, it 
has likewise a very great one upon our judgments. We 
often hear a poor insipid paper or pamphlet cried up, 
and sometimes a noble piece depreciated, by those who 
are of a different principle from the author. One who is 

70 actuated by this sj)irit is almost under an incapacity of 
discerning either real blemishes or beauties. A man of 
merit in a different princijDle is like an object seen in two 
different mediums, that appears crooked or broken, how- 
ever straight and entire it may be in itself. For this rea- 

75 son there is scarce a person of any figure in England who 
does not go by two contrary characters, as opposite to one 
another as light and darkness. Knowledge and learning 
suffer in a particular manner from this strange prejudice, 
which at present prevails amongst all ranks and degrees 

80 in the British nation. As men formerly became eminent in 
learned societies by their parts and acquisitions, they now 
distinguish themselves by the warmth and violence with 
which they espouse their respective parties. Books are 
valued upon the like considerations. An abusive, scur- 

85rilous style passes for satire, and a dull scheme of party 
notions is called fine writing. 

There is one piece of sophistry practised by both sides, 
and that is the taking any scandalous story that has been 
ever whispered or invented of a private man, for a known 

90 undoubted truth, and raising suitable speculations upon 
it. Calumnies that have been never proved, or have been 
often refuted, are the ordinary postulatums of these in- 
famous scribblers, upon which they proceed as upon first 
principles granted by all men, though in their hearts 

95 they know they are false, or at best verv doubtful- When 



No. 135.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY HI 

they have laid these foundations of scurrility, it is no 
wonder that their snj^erstructure is every way answerable 
to them. If this shameless practice of the present age 
endures much longer, praise and reproach will cease to 

100 be motives of action in good men. 

There are certain periods of time in all governments 
when this inhuman spirit prevails. Italy was long torn 
in pieces by the Cluelphs and Ghibellines, and France by 
those who were for and against the League : but it is very 

105 unhappy for a man to be born in such a stormy and 
tempestuous season. It is the restless ambition of artful 
men that thus breaks a j)eople into factions, and drav/s 
several well-meaning persons to their interest by a spe- 
cious concern for their country. How many honest minds 

110 are filled with uncharitable and barbarous notions, out of 
their zeal for the public good ! What cruelties and out- 
rages would they not commit against men of an adverse 
party, whom they would honour and esteem, if instead of 
considering them as they are represented, they knew 

115 them as they are ! Thus are persons of the greatest 
probity seduced into sliameful errors and prejudices, and 
made bad men even by that noblest of principles, the 
love of their country. I cannot here forbear mentioning 
the famous Spanish proverb, " If there were neither fools 

120 nor knaves in the world, all people would be of one 
mind." 

For my own part I could heartily wish that all honest 
men would enter into an association for the support of 
one another against tlie endeavours of those whom they 

125 0i^ght to look upon as their common enemies, whatsoever 
side they may belong to. Were there such an honest 
body of neutral forces, we should never see the worst of 
men in great figures of life, because they are useful to a 
party ; nor the best unregarded, because they are above 

130 practising those methods which would be grateful to 



112 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 125. 

their faction. We should then single every criminal out 
of the herd, and hunt him down, however formidable and 
overgrown he might appear ; on the contrary, we should 
shelter distressed innocence, and defend virtue, however 
135 beset with contempt or ridicule, envy or defamation. In 
short, we should not any longer regard our fellow sub- 
jects as Whigs or Tories, but should make the man of 
merit our friend, and the villain our enemy. 



No. 126.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 113 



XXIV. THE MISCHIEFS OF PARTY SPIRIT. 

No. 126.] Wednesday, July 25, 1711. [Addison. 

Troa Rutulusve fiiat, nullo discrimine hobeho. 

Virgil, u^neid, x. 108. 

In" my yesterday's paper I proposed that the honest 
men of all parties should enter into a kind of association 
for the defence of one another, and the confusion of their 
common enemies. As it is designed this neutral body 
5 should act with a regard to nothing but truth and equity, 
and divest themselves of the little heats and preposses- 
sions that cleave to parties of all kinds, I have prepared 
for them ihe following form of an association, which may 
express their intentions in the most plain and simj)le 

10 manner : — 

We tvhose names are hereunto suhscrihed do solemnly 
declare, that toe do in our consciences believe two and two 
mahe four ; and that we shall adjudge any man whatsoever 
to he our enemy who endeavoiirs to i^ersuade us to the con- 

15 trary. We are likewise ready to maintain, with the 
hazard of all that is near and dear to its, that six is less 
than seven in all times and all places, and that ten will not 
he more three years hence than it is at present. We do 
also firmly declare, that it is our resolution as long as we 

20 live to call hlach hlach, and ivhite ichite. And we shall 
upon all occasions oppose such persons that upon any day 
of the year shall call hlach white, or tuhite hlack, with the 
utmost peril of our lives and fortunes. 

Were there such a combination of honest men, who 

25 without any regard to places would endeavour to ex- 
tirpate all such furious zealots as would sacrifice one half 
8 



114 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET [No. 126. 

of their country to the ^^assion and interest of the other ; 
as also such infamous hypocrites, that are for promoting 
their own advantage under colour of the public good ; 

30 with all the profligate immoral retainers to each side, that 
have nothing to recommend them but an implicit sub- 
mission to their leaders ; — we should soon see that furious 
party s^iirit extinguished, which may in time expose us 
to the derision and contempt of all the nations about us. 

35 A member of this society, that would thus carefully 
employ himself in making room for merit, by throwing 
down the worthless and depraved part of mankind from 
those conspicuous stations of life to which they have 
been sometimes advanced, and all this without any re- 

40 gard to his private interest, would be no small benefactor 
to his country. 

I remember to have read in Diodorus Siculus an account 
of a very active little animal, which I think he calls the 
ichneumon, that makes it the whole business of his life 

45 to break the eggs of the crocodile, which he is always 
in search after. This instinct is the more remarkable, 
because the ichneumon never feeds upon the eggs he has 
broken, nor in any other way finds his account in them. 
Were it not for the incessant labours of this industrious 

50 animal, Egypt, says the historian, would be overrun with 
crocodiles ; for the Egyptians are so far from destroying 
those pernicious creatures, that they worship them as 
gods. 

If we look into the behaviour of ordinary partisans, we 

55 shall find them far from resembling this disinterested 
animal ; and rather acting after the example of the wild 
Tartars, who are ambitious of destroying a man of the 
most extraordinary parts and accomplishments, as think- 
ing that upon his decease the same talents, whatever post 

60 they qualified him for, enter of course into his destroyer. 
As in the whole train of my speculations I have en- 



No. 126.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 115 

deavoiired, as much as I am able, to extinguish that perni- 
cious spirit of passion and prejudice which rages with the 
same violence in all parties, I am still the more desirous 

65 of doing some good in this particuhir, because I observe 
that the spirit of party reigns more in the country than 
in the town. It here contracts a kind of brutality and 
rustic fierceness, to which men of a politer conversation 
are wholly strangers. It extends itself even to the return 

70 of the bow and the liat ; and at the same time that the 
heads of parties preserve toward one another an outward 
show of good breeding, and keep uj) a perpetual inter- 
course of civilities, their tools that are dispersed in these 
outlying parts will not so much as mingle together at a 

75 cock-match. This humour fills the country with several 
periodical meetings of Whig jockeys and Tory foxhunters, 
not to mention the innumerable curses, frowns, and 
whispers it produces at a quarter sessions. 

I do not know whether I have observed in any of my 

80 former ^^apers, that my friends Sir Roger de Coverleyand 
Sir Andrew Freeport are of different principles, the first 
of them inclined to the landed and the other to the 
moneyed interest. This humour is so moderate in each of 
them, that it proceeds no farther than to an agreeable 

85 raillery, which very often diverts the rest of the Club. I 
find, however, that the Knight is a much stronger Tory 
in the country than in town, which, as he has told me in 
my ear, is absolutely necessary for the keeping up his 
interest. In all our journey from London to his house 

90 we did not so much as bait at a AVhig inn ; or if by 
chance the coachman stopjoed at a wrong place, one of Sir 
Roger's servants would ride up to his master full speed, 
and whisper to him that the master of the house was 
against such an one in the last election. This often be- 

95trayed us into hard beds and bad cheer ; for we were not 
so inquisitive about the inn as the innkeeper ; and, pro- 



116 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 126. 

vided our landlord's principles were sound, did not take 
any notice of the staleness of his j^rovisions. This I 
found still the more inconvenient, because the better the 

100 host was, the worse generally were his accommodations ; 
the fellow knowing very well that those who were his 
friends would take up with coarse diet and a hard lodg- 
ing. For these reasons, all the Avhile I was upon the 
road I dreaded entering into an house of any one that 

105 Sir Roger had applauded for an honest man. 

Since my stay at Sir Roger's in the country, I daily find 
more instances of this narrow party-humour. Being upon 
a bowling-green at a neighbouring market-town the other 
day (for that is the place where the gentlemen of one 

110 side meet once a week), I observed a stranger among 
them of a better presence and genteeler behaviour than 
ordinary ; but was much surprised, that, notwithstanding 
he was a very fair better, nobody would take him up. But 
upon inquiry I found that he was one who had given a 

115 disagreeable vote in a former parliament, for which rea- 
son there was not a man upon that bowling-green who 
would have so much correspondence with him as to win 
his money of him. 

Among otlier instances of this nature, I must not omit 

120 one which concerns myself. Will Wimble was the other 
day relating several strange stories that he had picked up, 
nobody knows where, of a certain great man ; and U23on 
my staring at him, as one that was surprised to hear such 
things in the country, which had never been so much as 

125 whispered in the town. Will stopped short in the thread 
of his discourse, and after dinner asked my friend Sir 
Roger in his ear if he was sure that I was not a fanatic. 

It gives me a serious concern to see such a spirit of dis- 
sension in the country ; not only as it destroys virtue 

130 and common sense, and renders us in a manner barbarians 
towards one another, but as it perpetuates our animosi- 



No. 126.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 117 

ties, widens our breaches, and transmits our present pas- 
sions and prejudices to our posterity. For my own part, 
I am sometimes afraid that I discover the seeds of a civil 
135 war in these our divisions ; and therefore cannot but be- 
wail, as in their first principles, the miseries and calam- 
ities of our children. 




Sir Roger and the gypsies. 



No. 130.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 119 

to lose a knife, a fork, or a spoon every time liis fortune 
is told him, generally shuts himself uj) in the pantry 
with an old gypsy for above half an hour once in a twelve- 
month. Sweetrliearts are the things tiiey live upon, 

30 which they bestow very plentifully upon all those that 
apply themselves to them. You see now and then some 
handsome young jades among them ; they have very often 
white teeth and black eyes.'' 

Sir Roger, observing that I listened with great atten- 

35 tion to his account of a people who were so entirely new 
to me, told me that if I would they should tell us our 
fortunes. As I was very well pleased with the Knight's 
proposal, we rid up and communicated our hands to 
them. A Cassandra of the crew, after having examined 

40 my lines very diligently, told me that I loved a pretty 
maid in a corner, that I was a good woman's man, with 
some other particulars which I do not think proper to 
relate. My friend Sir Roger alighted from his horse, 
and exposing his palm to two or three that stood by liim, 

45 they crumpled it into all shapes, and diligently scanned 
every wrinkle that could be made in it ; when one of 
them, who was older and more sunburnt than the rest, 
told him that he had a widow in his line of life ; upon 
which the Knight cried, '^ Go, go, you are an idle bag- 

50 gage," and at the same time smiled upon me. The 
gypsy, finding he was not displeased in his heart, told 
him, after a farther inquiry into his hand, that his true 
love was constant, and that she should dream of him to- 
night ; my old friend cried ^^ Pish ! " and bid her go on. 

55 The gypsy told him that he was a bachelor, but would not 
be so long ; and that he was dearer to somebody than he 
thought. The Knight still repeated she was an idle bag- 
gage, and bid her go on. " Ah, master," says the gypsy, 
'^ that roguish leer of yours makes a pretty woman's heart 

60 ache ; you ha'n't that simper about the mouth for noth- 



120 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 130. 

ing ." The uncouth gibberish with which all this 

was uttered, like the darkness of an oracle, made us the 
more attentive to it. To be short, the Knight left the 
money with her that he had crossed her hand with, and 

65 got up again on his horse. 

As we were riding away, Sir Roger told me that he 
knew several sensible people who believed these gypsies 
now and then foretold very strange things ; and for half 
an hour together appeared more jocund than ordinary. 

70 In the height of his good humour, meeting a common 
beggar upon the road, who was no conjurer, as he went 
to relieve him he found his pocket was picked, that 
being a kind of palmistry at which this race of vermin are 
very dexterous. 

75 I might here entertain my reader with historical re- 
marks on this idle profligate people, who infest all the 
countries of Europe, and live in the midst of governments 
in a kind of commonwealth by themselves. But instead 
of entering into observations of this nature, I shall fill 

80 the remaining part of my paper with a story which is still 
fresh in Holland, and was printed in one of our monthly 
accounts about twenty years ago. '' As the treksclmyt, or 
hackney-boat, which carries passengers from Leyden to 
Amsterdam, was putting off, a boy running along the 

85 side of the canal desired to be taken in ; which the 
master of the boat refused, because the lad had not quite 
money enough to pay the usual fare. An eminent mer- 
chant being pleased with the looks of the boy, and se- 
cretly touched with compassion towards him, paid the 

90 money for him, and ordered him to be taken onboard. 
Upon talking with him afterwards, he found that he 
could speak readily in three or four languages, and 
learned upon farther examination that he had been stolen 
away when he was a child by a gypsy, and had rambled 

95 ever since with a gang of those strollers up and down 



No. 130.J SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 121 

several parts of Europe. It happened that the merchant, 
whose heart seems to have inclined towards the boy by a 
secret kind of instinct, had himself lost a child some 
years before. The parents, after a long search for him, 

100 gave him for drowned in one of the canals with which 
that country abounds ; and the mother was so afflicted at 
the loss of a fine boy, who was her only son, that she died 
for grief of it. Upon laying together all particulars, and 
examining the several moles and marks by which the 

105 mother used to describe the child when he was first miss- 
ing, tlie boy proved to be the son of the merchant, whose 
heart had so unaccountably melted at the sight of him. 
The lad was very well pleased to find a father who was 
so rich, and likely to leave him a good estate ; the father 

110 on the other hand was not a little delighted to see a son 
return to him, whom he had given for lost, with such a 
strength of constitution, sharpness of understanding, and 
skill in languages.^' Here the printed story leaves off; 
but if I may give credit to reports, our linguist having 

115 received such extraordinary rudiments towards a good 
education, was afterwards trained up in everything that 
becomes a gentleman ; wearing off by little and little 
all the vicious habits and practices that he had been 
used to in the course of his peregrinations. ISTay, it is 

120 said that he has since been employed in foreign courts 
upon national business, with great reputation to himself 
and honour to those who sent him, and that he has visited 
several countries as a public minister, in which he formerly 
wandered as a gypsy. 



122 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 131. 



XXVI. THE SPECTATOR DECIDES TO RETIRE TO 
THE TOWN. 

No. 131.] Tuesday, July 31, 1711. [Addison. 



lj)sai riirsum concedite sylvce. 

Virgil, Eclogues, x. 03. 

It is usual for a man who loves country sports to pre- 
serve the game in his own grounds, and divert himself 
upon those that belong to his neighbour. My friend Sir 
Roger generally goes two or three miles from his house. 
Sand gets into the frontiers of his estate, before he beats 
about in search of a hare or partridge, on 23urpose to 
spare his own fields, Avhere he is always sure of finding 
diversion when the worst comes to the worst. By this 
means the breed about his house has time to increase and 

10 multiply; besides that the sport is the more agreeable 
where the game is tlie harder to come at, and where it 
does not lie so thick as to produce any perplexity or con- 
fusion in the pursuit. For these reasons the country 
gentleman, like the fox, seldoms j^reys near liis own 

15 home. 

In the same manner I have made a month's excursion out 
of the town, which is the great field of game for sports- 
men of my species, to try my fortune in the country, 
where I have started several subjects, and hunted them 

20 down, with some pleasure to myself, and I hope to others. 
I am here forced to use a great deal of diligence before I 
can spring anything to my mind ; whereas in town, 
whilst I am following one character, it is ten to one but I 
am crossed in my way by another, and put up such a 



No. 131.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 123 

25 variety of odd creatures in both sexes, that they foil the 
scent of one another, and puzzle the chase. My greatest 
difficulty in the country is to find sport, and, in town, to 
choose it. In the mean time, as I have given a whole 
montli's rest to the cities of London and Westminster, I 

30 promise myself abundance of new game upon my return 
thither. 

It is indeed high time for me to leave the country, since I 
find the whole neighbourhood begin to grow very inquisi- 
tive after my name and character ; my love of solitude, 

35 taciturnity, and particular way of life having raised a 
great curiosity in all these parts. 

The notions which have been framed of me are various ; 
some look upon me as very proud, some as very modest, 
and some as very melancholy. Will Wimble, as my 

40 friend the butler tells me, observing me very much alone, 
and extremely silent when I am in company, is afraid I 
have killed a man. The country people seem to suspect 
me for a conjurer ; and, some of them hearing of the 
visit which I made to Moll White, will needs have it that 

45 Sir Eoger has brought down a cunning man with him, to 
cure the old woman, and free the country from her 
charms. So that the character which I go under in part 
of the neighbourhood is what they here call a " white 
witch.'' 

50 A justice of peace, who lives about five miles off, and 
is not of Sir Koger's party, has, it seems, said twice or 
thrice at his table, that he wishes Sir Eoger does not 
harbour a Jesuit in his house, and that he thinks the 
gentlemen of the country would do very well to make me 

55 give some account of myself. 

On the other side, some of Sir Roger's friends are 
afraid the old Knight is imposed upon by a designing fel- 
low, and as they have heard that he converses very pro- 
miscuously when he is in town, do not know but he has 



124 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 131. 

60 brought down with him some discarded Whig, that is 
sullen and says nothing because he is out of place. 

Such is the variety of opinions which are here enter- 
tained of me, so that I pass among some for a disaffected 
person, and among others for a Popish priest ; among 

65 some for a wizard, and among others for a murderer; 
and all this for no other reason, that I can imagine, but 
because I do not hoot and halloa and make a noise. It is 
true my friend Sir Roger tells them that it is my way, 
and that I am only a philosopher ; but this will not satisfy 

70 them. They think there is more in me than he discovers, 
and that I do not hold my tongue for nothing. 

For these and other reasons I shall set out for London 
to-morrow, having found by experience that the country 
is not a place for a person of my temper, who does not 

75 love jollity, and what they call good neighbourhood. A 
man that is out of humour when an unexpected guest 
breaks in upon him, and does not care for sacrificing an 
afternoon to every chance-comer, that will be tlie master 
of his own time, and the pursuer of his own inclinations, 

80 makes but a very unsociable figure in this kind of life. I 
shall therefore retire into the town, if I may make use of 
that phrase, and get into the crowd again as fast as I 
can, in order to be alone. I can there raise what specula- 
tions I please upon others without being observed myself, 

85 and at the same time enjoy all the advantages of company 
with all the privileges of solitude. In the meanwhile, to 
finish the month, and conclude these my rural specula- 
tions, I shall here insert a letter from my friend Will 
Honeycomb, who has not lived a month for these forty 

90 years out of the smoke of London, and rallies me after 
his way upon my country life. 

''Dear Spec, — 

''I suppose this letter will find thee picking of daisies, 



No. 131.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 126 

or smelling to a lock of hay, or passing a\yay thy time in 

95 some innocent country diversion of the like nature. I 

have, however, orders from the Club to summon thee up 

to town, being all of us cursedly afraid thou wilt not be 

able to relish our company, after thy conversations with 

Moll White and Will Wimble. Pr'ythee don't send us up 

100 any more stories of a cock and a bull, nor frighten the 

town with spirits and witches. Thy speculations begin to 

smell confoundedly of woods and meadoAVS. If thou dost 

not come up quickly, we shall conclude that thou art in 

love with one of Sir Koger's dairy-maids. Service to the 

105 Knight. Sir Andrew is grown the cock of the Club since 

he left us, and if he does not return quickly will make 

every mother's son of us Commonwealth's men. 

'^ Dear Spec, 

'^ Thine eternally, 

'* Will Honeycomb." 



126 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 132. 



XXVII. THE SPECTATOR'S JOURNEY TO LONDON. 

No. 132.] Wednesday, August 1, 1711. [Steele. 

— Qui, aut tempus quid j^ostulet non videt, aut x>lura loquitur, 
aut se ostentat, aut eorum quibuscum est, . . . rationem non liabet 
. . . is ineptus esse dicitur. 

Cicero, De Oratore, ii. 4. 

Having notified to my good friend Sir Roger that I 
should set out for London the next day, his horses were 
ready at the appointed hour in the evening ; and attended 
by one of his grooms, I arrived at the county town at 
5 twilight, in order to be ready for the stage-coach the day 
following. As soon as Ave arrived at the inn, tlie servant 
who waited upon me inquired of the chamberlain, in my 
hearing, what company he had for the coach. The fel- 
low answered, '' Mrs. Betty Arable, the great fortune, and 

10 the widow her motlier ; a recruiting officer (who took a 
place because they were to go) ; young Squire Quickset, 
her cousin (that her mother wished her to be married to); 
Ephraim the Quaker, her guardian ; and a gentleman 
that had studied himself dumb, from Sir Roger de Cover- 

15 ley's." I observed by what he said of myself, that accord- 
ing to his office, he dealt much in intelligence ; and 
doubted not but there was some foundation for his re- 
ports of the rest of the company, as well as for the whim- 
sical account he gave of me. The next morning at day- 

20 break we were all called; and I, who know my own 
natural shyness, and endeavour to be as little liable to be 
disputed with as possible, dressed immediately, that I 
might make no one wait. The first preparation for our 
setting out was, that the captain's half pike was placed 

25 near the coachman, and a drum behind the coach. In 




You see me, Madam, young, sound and impudent." 



No. 132.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 127 

the mean time the drummer, the captain's eqnipage, was 
very lond that none of the captain's things should be 
placed so as to be spoiled ; upon whicii his cloak-bag was 
fixed in the seat of the coach ; and the captain himself, 

30 according to a frequent, though invidious behaviour of 
military men, ordered his man to look sharp, that none 
but one of the ladies should have the place he had taken 
fronting to the coach-box. 

We were in some little time fixed in our seats and sat 

35 with that dislike which people not too good-natured 
usually conceive of each other at first sight. The 
coach jumbled us insensibly into some sort of famil- 
iarity, and we had not moved above two miles, when the 
widow asked the captain what success he had in his re- 

40 cruiting. The officer, with a frankness he believed very 
graceful, told her that indeed he had but very little luck, 
and had suffered much by desertion, therefore should be 
glad to end his warfare in the service of her or her fair 
daughter. ^^In a word," continued he, '^I am a soldier, 

45 and to be plain is my character ; you see me, madam, 
young, sound, and impudent ; take me yourself, Avidow, 
or give me to her, I will be wholly at your disposal. I 
am a soldier of fortune, ha ! " This was followed by a 
vain laugh of his own and a deep silence of all the rest 

50 of the company. I had nothing left for it but to fall 
fast asleep, which I did with all speed. " Come," said 
he, '' resolve upon it, we will make a wedding at the next 
town ; we will wake this pleasant companion who has 
fallen asleep, to be the brideman, and. " ( giving the 

55 Quaker a clap on the knee) he concluded, "this sly saint, 
who, ril warrant, understands what's what as well as you 
or I, widow, shall give the bride as father." 

The Quaker, who happened to be a man of smartness, 
answered, '^ Friend, I take it in good part that thou hast 

60 given me the authority of a father over this comely and 



128 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 132. 

virtuous child ; and I must assure thee, that if I have the 
giving her, I shall not bestow her on thee. Thy mirth, 
friend, savoureth of folly ; thou art a person of a light 
mind ; thy drum is a type of thee, it soundeth because it 

65 is empty. Verily it is not from thy fulness, but thy 
emptiness, that thou hast spoken this day. Friend, 
friend, we have hired this coach in partnership with thee 
to carry us to the great city ; we cannot go any other way. 
This worthy mother must hear thee if thou wilt needs 

70 utter thy follies ; we cannot help it, friend, I say — if thou 
wilt, we must hear thee ; but if thou wert a man of 
understanding, thou wouldst not take advantage of thy 
courageous countenance to abash us children of peace. 
Thou art, thou sayest, a soldier ; give quarter to us, who 

75 cannot resist thee. Why didst thou fleer at our friend, 
who feigned himself asleep ? He said nothing, but how 
dost thou know what he containeth ? If thou speakest 
improper things in the hearing of this virtuous young vir- 
gin, consider it is an outrage against a distressed person 

80 that cannot get from thee ; to speak indiscreetly what we 
are obliged to hear, by being hasped up with thee in this 
public vehicle, is in some degree assaulting on the high 
road.^' 

Here Ephraim paused, and the captain with an happy 

85 and uncommon impudence (which can be convicted and 
support itself at the same time) cries, ^' Faith, friend, I 
thank thee ; I should have been a little impertinent if thou 
hadst not reprimanded me. Come, thou art, I see, a 
smoky old fellow, and I'll be very orderly the ensuing part 

90 of the journey. I was going to give myself airs, but, ladies, 
I beg pardon.'^ 

The captain was so little out of humour, and our com- 
pany was so far from being soured by this little ruffle, that 
Ephraim and he took a particular delight in being agree- 

95 able to each other for the future ; and assumed their differ- 



No. 132.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 129 

eiit provinces in the condnct of the company. Our reckon- 
ing, apartments, and accommodation fell under Ephraim ; 
and the captain looked to all disputes on the road, as the 
good behaviour of our coachman, and the right we had of 

100 taking place as going to London of all vehicles coming 
from thence. The occurrences we met with were ordinary, 
and very little happened which could entertain by the 
relation of them ; but when I considered the company we 
were in, I took it for no small good fortune that the whole 

105 journey was not spent in impertinences, which to one part 
of us might be an entertainment, to the other a suffering. 
What, therefore, Ephraim said when we were almost 
arrived at London, had to me an air not only of good 
understanding but good breeding. Upon the young lady's 

110 expressing her satisfaction in the journey, and declaring 
how delightful it had been to her, Ephraim declared him- 
self as follows : ^^ There is no ordinary part of human life 
Avhich expresseth so much a good mind, and a right inward 
man, as his behaviour uj^on meeting with strangers, espe- 

115 cially such as may seem the most unsuitable companions to 
him ; such a man, when he falleth in the way with persons 
vt simplicity and innocence, however knowing he may be 
in the ways of men, will not vaunt himself thereof ; but 
will the rather hide his superiority to them, that he may 

120 not be painful unto them. My good friend," (continued 
he, turning to the officer), '^ thee and I are to part by and 
by, and peradventure we may never meet again ; but be 
advised by a j^lain man : modes and apparel are but trifles 
to the real man, therefore do not think such a man as thy- 

125 self terrible for thy garb, nor such a one as me contemp- 
tible for mine. When two such as thee and I meet, with 
affections as we ought to have towards each other, thou 
shouldst rejoice to see my ^Dcaceable demeanour, and I 
should be glad to see thy strength and ability to protect 

130 me in it." 
9 



130 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 174. 



XXVIII. SIR ROGER AND SIR ANDREW FREEPORT. 
No. 174.] Wednesday, September 19, 1711. [Steele. 

Hcec memiiii et victumfrustra contendere Tliyrsin. 

Virgil, Eclogues, vii. 69. 

There is scarce anything more common than animosi- 
ties between parties that cannot subsist but by their agree- 
ment : this was well represented in the sedition of the 
members of the human body in the old Roman fable. It 
sis often the case of lesser confederate states against a 
superior power, which are hardly held together, though 
their unanimity is necessary for their common safety ; 
and this is always the case of the landed and trading inter- 
est of Great Britain ; the trader is fed by the product of 

10 the land, and the landed man cannot be clothed but by 
the skill of the trader ; and yet those interests are ever 
jarring. 

We had last winter an instance of this at our club, in' 
Sir Roger de Coverley and Sir Andrew Freeport, between 

15 whom there is generally a constant, though friendly, op- 
position of opinions. It happened that one of the com- 
pany, in an historical discourse, was observing, that Car- 
thaginian faith was a proverbial phrase to intimate breach 
of leagues. Sir Roger said it could hardly be otherwise : 

20 that the Carthaginians were the greatest traders in the 
world ; and as gain is the chief end of such a people, they 
never pursue any other : the means to it are never regarded. 
They will, if it comes easily, get money honestly ; but if 
not, they will not scruple to attain it by fraud, or cozen- 

25 age. And indeed, what is the whole business of the trader's 
account, but to overreach him who trusts to his memory ? 



No. 174.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 131 

But were that not so, what can there great and noble be 
expected from him whose attention is forever fixed upon 
balancing his books, and watching over his expenses ? 

30 And at best, let frugality and parsimony be the virtues of 
the merchant, how much is his punctual dealing below a 
gentleman's charity to the poor, or hospitality among his 
neighbours I 

Captain Sentry observed Sir Andrew very diligent in 

35 hearing Sir Roger, and had a mind to turn the discourse, 
by taking notice in general, from the highest to the lowest 
parts of human society, there was a secret, though unjust, 
way among men, of indulging the seeds of ill-nature and 
envy, by comparing their own state of life to that of 

40 another, and grudging the approach of their neighbour to 
their own happiness ; and on the other side, he who is the 
less at his ease, repines at the other, who he thinks has 
unjustly the advantage over him. Thus the civil and 
military lists look upon each other with much ill-nature ; 

45 the soldier repines at the courtier's power, and the cour- 
tier rallies the soldier's honour ; or, to come to lower in- 
stances, the private men in the horse and foot of an army, 
the carmen and coachmen in the city streets, mutually 
look upon each other with ill-will, when they are in com- 

50 petition for quarters or the way, in their respective 
motions. 

'^ It is very well, good Captain," interrupted Sir Andrew, 
" you may attempt to turn the discourse if you think fit ; 
but I must however have a word or two with Sir Roger, 

55 who, I see, thinks he has paid me off, and been very 
severe upon the merchant. I shall not," continued he, 
^' at this time remind Sir Roger of the great and noble 
monuments of charity and jDublic spirit, which have been 
erected by merchants since the Reformation, but at present 

60 content myself with what he allows us, parsimony and 
frugality. If it were consistent with the quality of so 



132 ^IR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 174. 

ancient a baronet as Sir Roger, to keep an account, or 
measure things by the most infallible way, that of num- 
bers, he would prefer our parsimony to his hospitality. 

65 If to drink so many hogsheads is to be hospitable, we do 
not contend for the fame of that virtue ; but it would be 
worth while to consider, whether so many artificers at work 
ten days together by my appointment, or so many peasants 
made merry on Sir Roger's charge, are the men more 

70 obliged ? I believe the families of the artificers will thank 
me more than the households of the peasants shall Sir 
Roger. Sir Roger gives to his men, but I place mine 
above the necessity or obligation of my bounty. I am in 
very little pain for the Roman proverb upon the Cartha- 

75 ginian traders ; the Romans were their professed enemies. 
I am only sorry no Carthaginian histories have come to 
our hands ; we might have been taught perhaps by them 
some proverbs against the Roman generosity, in fighting 
for and bestowing other people's goods. But since Sir 

80 Roger has taken occasion from an old proverb to be out of 
humour with merchants, it should be no offence to offer 
one not quite so old, in their defence. When a man hap- 
pens to break in Holland, they say of him that ^ he has 
not kept true accounts.'* This phrase, perhaps, among 

85 us, would appear a soft or humorous Avay of speaking, but 
with that exact nation it bears the highest reproach. For 
a man to be mistaken in the calculation of his expense, in 
his ability to answer future demands, or to be imperti- 
nently sanguine in putting his credit to too great adven- 

90 ture, are all instances of as much infamy as with gayer 
nations to be failing in courage or common honesty. 

'' Numbers are so much the measure of everything that 
is valuable, that it is not possible to demonstrate the suc- 
cess of any action, or the prudence of any undertaking, 

95 without them. I say this in answer to what Sir Roger is 
pleased to say, ' that little that is truly noble can be ex- 



No. 174.J SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 133 

pected from one who is ever poring on his cash-book, 
or balancing his accounts/ When I have my returns 
from abroad, I can tell to a shilling, by the help of num- 

100 bers, the profit or loss by my adventure ; but I ought 
also to be able to show that I had reason for making it, 
either from my own experience or that of other people, or 
from a reasonable presum2:)tion that my returns will be 
sujSicient to answer my expense and hazard ; and this is 

105 never to be done without the skill of numbers. For in- 
stance, if I am to trade to Turkey, I ought beforehand to 
know the demand of our manufactures there as well as of 
their silks in England, and the customary prices that are 
given for both in each country. I ought to have a clear 

110 knowledge of these matters beforehand, that I may pre- 
sume upon sufficient returns to answer the charge of the 
cargo I have fitted out, the freight and assurance out and 
home, the custom to the Queen, and the interest of my 
own money, and besides all these ex^^enses a reasonable 

115 profit to myself. Now what is there of scandal in this 
skill ? What has the merchant done, that he should be 
so little in the good graces of Sir Eoger ? He throws 
down no man's enclosures, and tramples upon no man's 
corn ; he takes nothing from the industrious labourer ; he 

120 pays the poor man for his work; he communicates his 
profit with mankind ; by the preparation of his cargo, and 
the manufacture of his returns, he furnishes employment 
and subsistence to greater numbers than the richest no- 
bleman ; and even the nobleman is obliged to him for 

125 finding out foreign markets for the produce of his estate, 
and for making a great addition to his rents ; and 3^et 'tis 
certain that none of all these things could be done by 
him without the exercise of his skill in numbers. 

'' This is the economy of the merchant ; and the con- 

130 duct of the gentleman must be the same, unless by scorn- 
ing to be the steward, he resolves the steward shall be the 



134 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 174. 

gentleman. The gentleman, no more than the merchant, 
is able, without the help of numbers, to account for the 
success of any action, or the prudence of any adventure. 

135 If, for instance, the chase is his whole adventure, his only 
returns must be the stag's horns in the great hall, and 
the fox's nose upon the stable door. Without doubt Sir 
Roger knows the full value of these returns ; and if be- 
forehand he had computed the charges of the chase, a 

140 gentleman of his discretion would certainly have hanged 
np all his dogs ; he would never have brought back so 
many fine horses to the kennel ; he Avould never have gone 
so often, like a blast, over fields of corn. If such, too, 
had been the conduct of all his ancestors, he might truly 

145 have boasted at this day, that the antiquity of his family 
had never been sullied by a trade; a merchant had never 
been permitted with his whole estate to purchase a room 
for his picture in the gallery of the Coverleys, or to claim 
his descent from tlie maid of honour. But 'tis very happy 

150 for Sir Koger that the merchant paid so dear for his am- 
bition. 'Tis the misfortune of many other gentlemen to 
turn out of the seats of their ancestors, to make way for 
such new masters as have been more exact in their ac- 
counts than themselves ; and certainly he deserves the 

155 estate a great deal better who has got it by his industry 
than he who has lost it by his negligence.'' 



No. 251.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 135 



XXIX. THE CRIES OF LONDON. 

No. 251.] Tuesday, December 18, 1711. [Addison. 
Lingiice centum siint, oraque centum. 



Ferrea vox 

Virgil, JEneid, vi. 625. 

There is notliing which more astonishes a foreigner, 
and frights a country squire, than the cries of London. 
My good friend Sir Roger often declares that he cannot 
get them out of his head, or go to sleep for them, the first 
5 week that he is in town. On the contrary, AVill Honey- 
comb calls them the ramage cle la ville, and prefers them 
to the sounds of larks and nightingales, with all the music 
of the fields and woods. I have lately received a letter 
from some very odd fellow upon this subject, which I 
10 shall leave with my reader, without saying anything fur- 
ther of it. 

'^SlR,— 

'* I am a man of all business, and would willingly turn 
my head to anything for an honest livelihood. I have in- 

15 vented several projects for raising many millions of money 
without burthening the subject, but I cannot get the par- 
liament to listen to me, who look upon me, forsooth, as a 
crack and a projector ; so that despairing to enrich either 
myself or my country by this public-spiritedness, I would 

20 make some proposals to you relating to a design which I 
have very much at heart, and which may procure me a 
handsome subsistence, if you will be pleased to recommend 
it to the cities of London and Westminster. 

^' The post I would aim at is to be Comptroller General 

25 of the London Cries, which are at present under no man- 



136 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 251. 

ner of rules or discipline. I tliink I am pretty well quali- 
fied for this place, as being a man of very strong lungs, of 
great insight into all the branches of our British trades 
and manufactures, and of a competent skill in music. 

30 *^ The cries of London may be divided into vocal and 
instrumental. As for the latter, they are at present under 
a very great disorder. A freeman of London has the 
privilege of disturbing a whole street for an hour together, 
with the twanking of a brass kettle or a frying-pan. The 

35 watchman^s thump at midnight startles us in our beds, as 
much as the breaking in of a thief. The sowgelder's horn 
has indeed something musical in it, but this is seldom 
heard within the liberties. I would therefore propose, 
that no instrument of this nature should be made use of, 

40 which I have not tuned and licensed, after having care- 
fully examhied in what manner it may affect the ears of 
her Majesty's liege subjects. 

'^^ Vocal cries are of a much larger extent, and, indeed, 
so full of incongruities and barbarisms, that we appear a 

45 distracted city to foreigners, who do not comprehend the 
meaning of such enormous outcries. Milk is generally 
sold in a note above ela, and in sounds so exceeding shrill, 
that it often sets our teeth on edge. The chimney- 
sweeper is confined to no certain pitch ; he sometimes ut- 

50 ters himself in the deepest bass, and sometimes in the 
sharpest treble, sometimes in the highest, and sometimes 
in the lowest note of the gamut. The same observation 
might be made on the retailers of small coal, not to men- 
tion broken glasses or brick-dust. In these, therefore, 

55 and the like cases, it should be my care to sweeten and 
mellow the voices of these itinerant tradesmen, before 
they make their appearance in our streets, as also to ac- 
commodate their cries to their respective wares ; and to 
take care in particular that those may not make the most 

60 noise who have the least to sell, which is very observable 



No. 251.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 137 

iu the venders of card-matches, to whom I cannot but ap- 
ply that old proverb of '^ Much cry, but little wool.'* 

" Some of these last mentioned musicians are so very 
loud in the sale of these trifling manufactures, that an 

65 honest splenetic gentleman of my acquaintance bargained 
with one of them never to come into the street where he 
lived. But what was the effect of this contract ? Why, the 
whole tribe of card-match-makers which frequent that 
quarter passed by his door the very next day, in hopes of 

70 being bought off after the same manner. 

** It is another great imperfection in our London cries, 
that there is no just time nor measure observed in them. 
Our news should, indeed, be published in a very quick 
time, because it is a commodity that will not keep cold. 

75 It should not, however, be cried with the same precipita- 
tion as fire : yet this is generally the case. A bloody bat- 
tle alarms the town from one end to another in an instant. 
Every motion of the French is published in so great a 
hurry, that one would tliink the enemy were at our gates. 

80 This likewise I would take upon me to regulate in such a 
manner, that there should be some distinction made be- 
tween the spreading of a victory, a march, or an encamp- 
ment, a Dutch, a Portugal, or a Spanish mail. Nor must 
I omit, under this head, those excessive alarms with which 

85 several boisterous rustics infest our streets in turnip sea- 
son ; and which are more inexcusable, because these are 
wares which are in no danger of cooling upon their hands. 
'^ There are others who affect a very slow time, and are, 
in my opinion, much more tunable than the former ; the 

90 cooper, in particular, swells his last note in a hollow voice, 
that is not without its harmony ; nor can I forbear being 
inspired with a most agreeable melancholy, when I hear 
that sad and solemn air with which the public are very 
often asked if they have any chairs to mend. Your own 

95 memory may suggest to you many other lamentable ditties 



138 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 251. 

of the same nature, in which the music is wonderfully lan- 
guishing and melodious. 

'^ I am always pleased with that particular time of the 
year which is proper for the pickling of dill and cucum- 

lOObers ; but, alas, this cry, like the song of the nightingale, 
is not heard above two months. It would therefore be 
worth while to consider whether the same air might not 
in some cases be adapted to other words. 

** It might likewise deserve our most serious considera- 

105 tion, how far, in a well-regulated city, those humourists 
are to be tolerated, who, not contented with the tradi- 
tional cries of their forefathers, have invented particular 
songs and tunes of their own ; such as was, not many 
years since, the pastry-man, commonly known by the name 

110 of the colly-molly-puff ; and such as is at this day the ven- 
der of powder and wash-balls, who, if I am rightly in- 
formed, goes under the name of Powder Watt. 

'^I must not here omit one particular absurdity which 
runs through this whole vociferous generation, and which 

115 renders their cries very of ten not only incommodious, but 
altogether useless to the public ; I mean that idle accom- 
plishment, which they all of them aim at, of crying so as 
not to be understood. Whether or no they have learned 
this from several of our aifected singers, I will not take 

120 upon me to say ; but most certain it is, that people know 
the wares they deal in rather by their tunes than by their 
words ; insomuch, that I have sometimes seen a country 
boy run out to buy apples of a bellows-mender, and ginger- 
bread from a grinder of knives and scissors. Nay, so 

125 strangely infatuated are some very eminent artists of this 
particular grace in a cry, that none but their acquaintance 
are able to guess at their profession ; for who else can 
know that ^ Work if I had it ' should be the signification 
of a corn-cutter ? 

130 ''Forasmuch therefore, as persons of this rank are 



No. 251.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 139 

seldom men of genius or capacitjj I think it would be 
very proper, that some man of good sense and sound 
judgment should preside over these public cries, who 
should permit none to lift up their voices in our streets, 

135 that have not tunable throats, and are not only able to 
overcome the noise of the crowd, and the rattling of coaches, 
but also to vend their respective merchandises in apt 
phrases, and in the most distinct and agreeable sounds. 
I do therefore humbly recommend myself as a person 

140 rightly qualified for this post ; and if I meet with fitting 
encouragement, shall communicate some other projects 
which I have by me, that may no less conduce to the 
emolument of the public. 
*' I am. Sir, &c. 

*' Ealph Crotchet." 



140 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 269. 



XXX. SIR ROGER COMES TO TOWN. 

No. 269.] Tuesday, January 8, 1712. [Addison. 
^vo rarissima nostra 



Simplicitas 

Ovid, Ars Amatoria, i. 241. 

I WAS this morning surprised with a great knocking at 
the door, when my landlady's daughter came up to me, 
and told me that there was a man below desired to speak 
with me. Upon my asking her who it was, she told me it 
5 was a very grave, elderly person, but that she did not 
know his name. I immediately went down to him, and 
found him to be the coachman of my worthy friend Sir 
Roger de Coverley. He told me that his master came to 
town last night, and would be glad to take a turn with me 

10 in Gray's Inn Walks. As I was wondering in myself what 
had brought Sir Roger to town, not having lately received 
any letter from him, he told me that his master was come 
up to get a sight of Prince Eugene, and that he desired I 
would immediately meet him. 

15 I was not a little pleased with the curiosity of the old 
Knight, though I did not much wonder at it, having 
heard him say more than once in j^rivate discourse, that 
he looked upon Prince Eugenic (for so the Knight always 
calls him) to be a greater man than Scanderbeg. 

20 I was no sooner come into Gray's Inn AValks, but I 
heard my friend upon the terrace hemming twice or thrice 
to himself with great vigour, for he loves to clear his pipes 
in good air (to make use of his own phrase), and ia not a 
little pleased with any one who takes notice of the strength 

25 which he still exerts in his morning hems. 



No. 269. J SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 141 

I was touched with a secret joy at the sight of the good 
old man, who before lie saw me was engaged in conversa- 
tion with a beggar-man that had asked an alms of him. I 
could hear my friend chide him for not finding out some 

30 work ; but at the same time saw him put his hand in his 
pocket and give him sixpence. 

Our salutations were very hearty on both sides, con- 
sisting of many kind shakes of the hand, and several 
affectionate looks which we cast upon one another. After 

35 which the Knight told me my good friend his chaplain was 
very well, and much at my service, and that the Sunday 
before he had made a most incomparable sermon out of 
Doctor Barrow. " I have left," says he, " all my affairs 
in his hands, and being willing to lay an obligation upon 

40 him, have deposited with him thirty marks, to be distrib- 
uted among his poor parishioners." 

He then proceeded to acquaint me with the welfare of 
Will Wimble. Upon which he put his hand into his fob 
and presented me in his name with a tobacco-stopper, 

45 telling me that Will had been busy all the beginning of 
the winter, in turning great quantities of them ; and that 
he made a present of one to every gentleman in the 
country who has good principles and smokes. He added 
that poor Will was at present under great tribulation, for 

50 that Tom Touchy had taken the law of him for cutting 
some hazel sticks out of one of his hedges. 

Among other pieces of news which the Knight brought 
from his country seat, he informed me that Moll White 
was dead ; and that about a month after her death the 

55 wind was so very high that it blew down the end of one of 
his barns. '' But for my own part," says Sir Eoger, '^1 
do not think that the old woman had any hand in it." 

He afterwards fell into an account of the diversions 
which had passed in his house during the holidays ; for 

60 Sir Roger, after the laudable custom of his ancestors, 



142 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 269. 

always keeps open house at Christmas. I learned from 
him that he had killed eight fat hogs for the season, that 
he had dealt about his chines very liberally amongst his 
neighbours, and that in particular he had sent a string of 

65 hogs-puddings with a pack of cards to every poor family 
in the parish. " I have often thought," says Sir Roger, 
'' it happens very well that Christmas should fall ont in the 
middle of the winter. It is the most dead uncomfortable 
time of the year, when the poor people would suffer very 

70 much from their poverty and cold, if they had not good 
cheer, warm fires, and Christmas gambols to support them. 
I love to rejoice their poor hearts at this season, and to see 
the whole village merry in my great hall. I allow a double 
quantity of malt to my small beer, and set it a-running for 

75 twelve days to every one that calls for it. I have always 
a piece of cold beef and a mince-pie uj^on the table, and 
am wonderfully pleased to see my tenants pass away a 
whole evening in playing their innocent tricks, and 
smutting one another. Our friend Will Wimble is as 

80 merry as any of them, and shows a thousand roguish 
tricks upon these occasions.'" 

I was very much delighted with the reflection of my old 
friend, which carried so much goodness in it. He then 
launched out into the praise of the late Act of Parliament 

85 for securing the Church of England, and told me, with 
great satisfaction, that he believed it already began to 
take effect, for that a rigid Dissenter, who chanced to dine 
at his house on Christmas day, had been observed to eat 
very plentifully of his plum-porridge. 

90 After having dispatched all our country matters. Sir 
Roger made several inquiries concerning the Club, and 
particularly of his old antagonist Sir Andrew Freeport. 
He asked me with a kind of smile whether Sir Andrew 
had not taken advantage of his absence, to vent among 

95 them some of his republican doctrines ; but soon after. 



No. 269.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 143 

gathering np ]iis countenance into a more than ordinary 
seriousness, " Tell me truly," says he, ^'' don't you think 
Sir Andrew had a hand in the Pope's Procession ? " — 
but without giving me time to answer him, " Well, well," 

100 says he, '^ I know you are a wary man, and do not care to 
talk of public matters." 

The Knight then asked me if I had seen Prince Eu- 
genic, and made me promise to get him a stand in some 
convenient place where he might have a full sight of that 

105 extraordinary man, whose presence does so much honour 
to the British nation. He dwelt very long on the praises 
of this great general, and I fonnd that, since I was with 
him in the country, he had drawn many observations to- 
gether out of his reading in Baker's Chronicle, and other 

110 authors, who always lie in his hall window, which very 
much redound to the honour of this prince. 

Having passed away the greatest part of the morning 
in hearing the Knight's reflections, which were partly pri- 
vate, and partly political, he asked me if I would smoke 

115 a pipe with him over a dish of coif ee at Squire's. As I 
love the old man, I take delight in complying with every- 
thing that is agreeable to him, and accordingly waited 
on him to the coffee-house, where his venerable figure 
drew upon us the eyes of the whole room. He had no 

120 sooner seated himself at the upper end of the high table, 
but he called for a clean pipe, a paper of tobacco, a dish 
of coffee, a wax candle, and Tlie Supplement, with such 
an air of cheerfulness and good-humour, that all the boys 
in the coffee-room (who seemed to take pleasure in serv- 

125 ing him) were at once employed on his several errands, 
insomuch that nobody else could come at a dish of tea, 
till the Knight had got all his conveniences about him. 



144 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 329. 



XXXI. SIR ROGER IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

No. 329. ] Tuesday, March 18, 1712. [Addison. 

Ire tamen restat, Numa quo clevenit, et Ancus. 

Horace, Epistles, I. vi. 27. 

My friend Sir Roger de Coverley told me t'other night 
that he had been reading my ^oaper upon Westminster 
Abbey, in which, says he, there are a great many inge- 
nious fancies. He told me, at the same time, that he ob- 
5 served I had promised another paper upon the tombs, and 
that he should be glad to go and see them with me, not 
having visited them since he had read history. I could 
not at first imagine how this came into the Knight's head, 
till I recollected that he had been very busy all last sum- 

lOmer upon Baker's Chronicle, which he has quoted several 
times in his disputes with Sir Andrew Freeport since his 
last coming to town. Accordingly, I promised to call 
upon him the next morning, that we might go together 
to the Abbey. 

15 I found the Knight under his butler's hands, who always 
shaves him. lie was no sooner dressed than he called 
for a glass of the Widow Trueby's water, which he told 
me he always drank before he went abroad. He recom- 
mended me to a dram of it at the same time with so 

20 much heartiness, that I could not forbear drinking it. 
As soon as I had got it down, I found it very unpalatable ; 
upon which the Knight, observing that I had made several 
wry faces, told me that he knew I should not like it at first, 
but that it was the best thing in the world against the 

25 stone or gravel. 

T could have Avished, indeed, that he had acquainted 



No. 339.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 145 

me with the virtues of it sooner ; but it was too late to 
complain^ and I knew what he had done was out of good- 
wilL Sir Roger told me, further, that he looked upon it 

30 to be very good for a man whilst he stayed in town, to 
keep off infection ; and that he got together a quantity of 
it upon the first news of the sickness being atDantzic : 
when of a sudden, turning short to one of his servants, 
who stood behind him, he bade him call a hackney-coach, 

35 and take care it was an elderly man that drove it. 

He then resumed his discourse upon Mrs. Trueby's 
water, telling me that the Widow Trueby was one who 
did more good than all the doctors and apothecaries in 
the county ; that she distilled every poppy that grew 

40 within five miles of her ; that she distributed her water 
gratis among all sorts of jjeople ; to which the Knight 
added, that she had a very great jointure, and that the 
whole country would fain have it a match between him 
and her ; ^' And truly,^' says Sir Roger, " if I had not 

45 been engaged, perhajDS I could not have done better. ^^ 

His discourse was broken off by his man's telling him 
he had called a coach. Upon our going to it, after hav- 
ing cast his eye upon the wheels, he asked the coachman 
if his axletree was good ; upon the fellow's telling him he 

50 would warrant it, the Knight turned to me, told me he 
looked like an honest man, and went in without further 
ceremony. 

We had not gone far, when Sir Roger, popping out his^ 
head, called the coachman down from his box, and upon 

55 his presenting himself at the window, asked him if he 
smoked ; as I was considering what this would end in, he 
bade him stop by the way at any good tobacconist's, and 
take in a roll of their best Virginia. Nothing material 
happened in the remaining part of our journey till we 

60 were set down at the west end of the Abbey. 

As we went up the body of the church, the Knight 
lo 



146 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 329. 

pointed at the trophies upon one of tlie new monuments, 
and cried out, " A brave man, I warrant him ! '^ Passing 
afterwards by Sir Cloudesley Shovel, he flung his hand that 

65 way, and cried, " Sir Cloudesley Shovel ! a very gallant 
man !'' As we stood before Busby's tomb, the Knight 
uttered himself again after the same manner : " Dr. 
Busby, a great man ! he whipped my grandfather ; a very 
great man ! I should have gone to him myself if I had 

70 not been a blockhead ; a very great man ! '' 

We were immediately conducted into the little chapel on 
the right hand. Sir Eoger, planting liimself at our his- 
torian's elbow, was very attentive to everything he said, 
particularly to the account he gave us of the lord who had 

75 cut off the King of Morocco's head. Among several other 
figures, he was very well pleased to see the statesman 
Cecil upon his knees ; and, concluding tiiem all to be 
great men, was conducted to the figure which represents 
that martyr to good housewifery, who died by the prick 

80 of a needle. Upon our interpreter's telling us that she 
was a maid of honour to Queen Elizabeth, the Knight was 
very inquisitive into her name and family ; and, after 
having regarded her finger for some time, '^ I wonder," 
says he, '' that Sir Eichard Baker has said nothing of her 

85 in his CJn'onide.'^ 

We Avere then conveyed to the two coronation chairs, 
where my old friend, after having heard that the stone 
underneath the most ancient of them, which was brought 
from Scotland, was called Jacob's Pillar, sat himself down 

90 in the chair ; and, looking like the figure of an old Gothic 
king, asked our interpreter what authority they had to say 
that Jacob had ever been in Scotland. The fellow, in- 
stead of returning him an answer, told him that he hoped 
his honour would pay his forfeit. I could observe Sir Roger 

95 a little ruffled upon being thus trepanned ; but, our guide 
not insisting upon his demand, the Knight soon recover'*^. 



No. 329.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 147 

his good humour, and whispered in my ear that if Will 
Wimble were with us, and saw those two chairs, it would 
go hard but he would get a tobacco-stopper out of one or 

100 t'other of them. 

Sir Eoger, in the next place, laid his hand upon Edward 
the Third's sword, and, leaning upon the pommel of it, 
gave us the whole history of tlie Black Prince ; concluding 
that, in Sir Richard Baker's opinion, Edward the Third 

105 was one of the greatest princes that ever sat upon the 
English throne. 

We were then shown Edward the Confessor's tomb, upon 
which Sir Roger acquainted us that he was the first who 
touched for the evil ; and afterwards Henry the Fourth's, 

110 upon wliich he shook his head, and told us there was fine 
reading in the casualties in that reign. 

Our conductor then j)ointed to that monument where 
there is the figure of one of our English kings without an 
head ; and upon giving us to know that the head, which 

115 was of beaten silver, had been stolen away several years 
since, '''Some Whig, I'll warrant you," says Sir Roger ; 
'^ you ought to lock up your kings better ; they will carry 
off the body too if you don't take care." 

The glorious names of Henry the Fifth and Queen 

120 Elizabeth gave the Knight great opportunities of shining 
and of doing justice to Sir Richard Baker, who, as our 
Knight observed with some surprise, had a great many 
kings in him whose monuments he had not seen in the 
Abbey. ^ 

125 For my own part, I could not but be pleased to see the 
Knight show such an honest passion for the glory of his 
country, and such a respectful gratitude to the memory 
of its princes. 

I must not omit that the benevolence of my good old 

130 friend, which flows out towards every one he converses 
with, made him very kind to our interpreter, whom he 



148 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 329. 

looked upon as an extraordinary man ; for wliicli reason 
he shook him by the hand at parting, telling him that he 
should be very glad to see him at his lodgings in Norfolk 
135 Buildings, and talk over these matters with him more at 
leisure. 



No. 331.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 149 



XXXII. SIR ROGER UPON BEARDS. 

No. 831.J Thursday, March 20, 1712. [Budgell. 

Stolidaiii prcehet tibi vellere barbavi. 

Persius, Satires, ii. 28. 

When I was last with my friend Sir Roger in West- 
minster Abbey, I observed tliat he stood longer than or- 
dinary before the bust of a venerable old man. I was at a 
loss to guess the reason of it, when, after some time, he 
5 pointed to the figure, and asked me if I did not think that 
our forefathers looked much wiser in their beards than we 
do without them ? " For my part," says he, ' ' when I am 
walking in my gallery in the country, and see my ances- 
tors, who many of them died before they were of my age, 

10 I cannot forbear regarding them as so many old patri- 
archs, and at the same time looking upon myself as an idle 
smock-faced young fellow. I love to see your Abrahams, 
your Isaacs, and your Jacobs, as we have them in old 
pieces of tapestry, with beards below their girdles, that 

15 cover half the hangings." The Knight added, if I would 
recommend beards in one of my papers, and endeavour to 
restore human faces to their ancient dignity, that upon a 
month's warning he would undertake to lead up the fashion 
himself in a pair of whiskers. 

30 I smiled at my friend's fancy ; but, after we j^'H'ted, 
could not forbear reflecting on the metamorphoses our 
faces have undergone in thj^ particular. 

The beard, conformable to the notion of my friend 
Sir Roger, \vas for many ages looked upon as the type of 

25 wisdom. Lucian more than once rallies the philosophers 
of his time, who endeavoured to rival one another in beard : 



150 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 331. 

and represents a learned man who stood for a j)i*of essorship 
in philosophy as unqualified for it by the shortness of his 
beard. 

30 ^^lian, in his account of Zoilus, the pretended critic, 
who wrote against Homer and Plato, and thought himself 
wiser than all who had gone before him, tells us that this 
Zoilus had a very long beard that hung down upon his 
breast, but no hair wpon his head, which he always kept 

35 close shaved, regarding, it seems, the hairs of his head as 
so many suckers, Avliioh, if they had been suffered to grow, 
might have drawn away the nourishment from his chin, 
and by that means have starved his beard. 

I have read somewhere that one of the popes refused to 

40 accept an edition of a saint's works, which were presented 
to him, because the saint, in his effigies before the book, 
was drawn without a beard. 

We see by these instances what homage the world has 
formerly paid to beards ; and that a barber was not then 

45 allowed to make those depredations on the faces of the 
learned, which have been permitted him of later years. 

Accordingly several wise nations have been so extremely 
jealous of the least ruffle offered to their beard that they 
seem to have fixed the point of honour principally in that 

50 part. The S^^aniards were wonderfully tender in this j)ar- 
ticular. 

Don Quevedo, in his third vision on the last judgment, 
has carried the humour very far, when he tells us that one 
of his vain-glorious countrymen, after having received 

55 sentence, was taken into custody by a couple of evil 

spirits ; but that his guides luqipening to disorder his 

mustachios, they were forced to recompose them with a 

pair of curling-irons, before they could get him to file off. 

If we look into the history of our own nation, we shall 

60 find that the beard flourished in the Saxon heptarchy, 
but was very much discouraged under the Norman line. 



No. 331.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 151 

It shot out, however, from time to time, in several reigns 
under different shapes. The last effort it made seems to 
have heen in Queen Mary's days, as the curious reader 

65 may find if he pleases to peruse the figures of Cardinal 
Pole and Bishop Gardiner ; though, at the same time, I 
think it may be questioned, if zeal against popery has not 
induced our Protestant ]3^iiiters to extend the beards of 
these two persecutors beyond their natural dimensions, in 

70 order to make them appear the more terrible. 

\I find but few beards worth taking notice of)in the 
reign of King James the First. 

During the civil wars there appeared one, which makes 
too great a figure in story to be passed over in silence : I 

75 mean that of the redoubted Iludibras, an account of Avhich 
Butler has transmitted to posterity in the following lines : — 

" His tawny beard was th' equal grace 
Both of his wisdom and his face ; 
In out and dye so like a tile, 
^^ A sudden view it would beguile ; 

The upper part thereof was whey, 
The nether orange niixt with grey." 

The whisker continued for some time among us after 
the expiration of beards ; but this is a subject which I 

85 shall not here enter upon, having discussed it at large in 
a distinct treatise, which I kee^^ by me in manuscript, 
upon the mustachio. 

If my friend Sir Roger's project of introducing beards 
should take effect, I fear the luxury of the 23resent age 

90 would make it a very expensive fashion. There is no 
question but the beaux would soon j^rovide themselves with 
false ones of the lightest colours and the most immoderate 
lengths. A fair beard, of the tapestry size Sir Eoger 
seems to approve, could not come under twenty guineas. 

95 The famous golden beard of ^sculapius would hardly be 



152 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 831. 

more valuable than one made in the extravagance of the 
fashion. 

Besides, we are not certain that the ladies would not 
come into the mode, when they take the air on horseback. 
100 They already appear in hats and feathers, coats and peri- 
wigs ; and I see no reason why we should not suppose that 
they would have their riding-beards on the same occasion. 



No. 335.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 153 



XXXIII. SIR ROGER AT THE PLAY. 

No. 335.] Tuesday, March 25, 1712. [Addison. 

Respicere exemplar vitce morumque jubebo 
Doctum imitatorem, et veras hinc diicere voces. 

Horace, Ars Poetica, 827. 

My friend Sir Roger de Coverley, when we last met to- 
gether at the Club, told me that he had a great mind to 
see the new tragedy with me, assuring me at the same 
time that he had not been at a play these twenty years. 
5 "The last I saw," said Sir Roger, 'Mvas The Committee 
which I should not have gone to neither, had not I been 
told beforehand that it was a good Churcli of England 
comedy." He then proceeded to inquire of me who this 
distressed mother was ; and, upon hearing that she was 

10 Hector's widow, he told me that her husband was a brave 
man, and that when he was a schoolboy, he had read his 
life at the end of the dictionary. My friend asked me, in 
the next place, if there would not be some danger in com- 
ing home late, in case the Mohocks should be abroad. " I 

15 assure you," says he, "I thought I had fallen into their 
hands last night ; for I observed two or three lusty black 
men that followed me half way up Fleet Street, and 
mended their pace behind me in proportion as I put on to 
get away from them. You must know," continued the 

20 Knight with a smile, /^ I fancied they had a mind to hunt 
me ; for I remember an honest gentleman in my neighbour- 
hood Avho was served such a trick in King Charles the 
Second's time ; for which reason he has not ventured him- 
self in town ever since. I might have shown them very 

25 good sport had this been their design ; for, as I am an old 
foxhunter, I should have turned and dodged, and have 



154 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 335. 

played them a thousand tricks they had never seen in tlieir 
lives before." Sir Roger added that if these gentlemen 
had any such intention they did not succeed very well in 

30 it: ^^for I threw them out," says he, "at the end of 
Norfolk Street, where I doubled the corner and got shelter 
in my lodgings before they could imagine what was become 
of me. However/' says the Knight, "if Captain Sentry 
will make one with us to-morrow night, and if you will 

35 both of you call upon me about four o'clock, that we may 
be at the house before it is full, I will have my own coach 
in readiness to attend you, for John tells me he has got 
the fore wheels mended." 

The Captain, who did not fail to meet me there at the 

40 appointed liour, bid Sir Eoger fear nothing, for that he 
had put on the same sword which he made use of at the 
battle of Steenkirk. Sir Roger's servants, and among the 
rest my old friend the butler, had, I found, provided 
themselves with good oaken plants to attend their master 

45 upon this occasion. AVhon he had placed him in his 
coach with myself at his left hand, the Captain before him, 
and his butler at the head of his footmen in the rear, we 
convoyed him in safety to the playhouse, where, after 
having marched up the entry in good order, the Captain 

50 and I went in with him, and seated him betwixt us in the 
pit. As soon as the house was full, and the candles lighted, 
my old friend stood up and looked about him with that 
pleasure which a mind seasoned with humanity naturally 
feels in itself at the sight of a multitude of people who 

55 seem j^leased with one another, and partake of the same 
common entertainment. I could not but fancy to myself, 
as the old man stood up in the middle of the pit, that he 
made a very proper centre to a tragic audience. Upon 
the entering of Pyrrhus, the Knight told me that he did 

60 not believe the King of France himself had a better strut. 
I was, indeed, very attentive to my old friend's remarks, 



No. 335.J SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 155 

because I looked upon them as a piece of natural criti- 
cism, and was well pleased to hear him, at the conclusion 
of almost every scene, telling me that he could not im- 

65agine how the play would end. One while he appeared 
much concerned for Andromache, and a little while after 
as much for Hermione, and was extremely puzzled to 
think what would become of Pyrrhus. 

When Sir Roger saw Andromache's obstinate refusal to 

70 her lover's importunities, he wliispered me in the ear that 
he was sure she would never have him ; to which he added, 
witli a more than ordinary vehemence, '' You can't ima- 
gine, Sir, what 'tis to have to do with a widow." Upon 
Pyrrhus his threatening afterwards to leave her, the Knight 

75 shook his head, and muttered to himself, '' Ay, do if you 
can." This part dwelt so much upon my friend's imagirta- 
tion, that at the close of the third act, as I was thinking 
of something else, he whispered in my ear, '^ These 
widows. Sir, are the most perverse creatures in the world. 

80 But pray," says he, ^^you that are a critic, is this play 
according to your dramatic rules, as you call them ? 
Should your people in tragedy always talk, to be under- 
stood ? Why, there is not a single sentence in this play 
that I do not know tlie meaning of." 

85 The fourth act very luckily began before I had time to 
give the old gentleman an answer. ''AVell," says the 
Knight, sitting down with great satisfaction, " I suppose 
we are now to see Hector's ghost." He then renewed his 
attention, and, from time to time, fell a-joraising the 

90 Widow. He made, indeed, a little mistake as to one of her 
pages, whom at his first entering he took for Astyanax ; 
but he quickly set himself right in that particular, though, 
at the same time, he owned he should have been very glad 
to have seen tlie little boy, " who," says he, ^'must needs 

95 be a very fine child by the account that is given of him." 
Upon Hermione's going off with a menace to Pyrrhus, the 



156 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 335. 

audience gave a loud clap, to which Sir Roger added, 
'^ On my word, a notable young baggage ! " 

As there was a very remarkable silence and stillness in 

100 the audience during the whole action, it was natural for 
them to take the opportunity of these intervals between 
the acts to express their opinion of the phiyers and of their 
respective parts. Sir Roger hearing a cluster of them 
praise Orestes, struck in with them, and told them that 

105 he thought liis friend Pylades was a very sensible man ; 
as they were afterwards applauding Pyrrhus, Sir Roger 
put in a second time : " And let me tell you," says he, 
'^ though he speaks but little, I like the old fellow in 
whiskers as well as any of them.'^ Captain Sentry seeing 

110 two or three wags, who sat near us, lean with an attentive 
ear towards Sir Roger, and fearing lest they should smoke 
the Knight, plucked him by the elbow, and whispered 
something in his ear, that lasted till the opening of the 
fifth act. The Knight was wonderfully attentive to the 

115 account which Orestes gives of Pyrrhus his death, and, at 
the conclusion of it, told me it was such a bloody piece of 
work that he was glad it was not done upon the stage. 
Seeing afterwards Orestes in his raving fit, he grew more 
than ordinary serious, and took occasion to moralize (in 

120 his way) upon an evil conscience, adding, that Orestes, in 
his madness, looked as if he saw something. 

As we were the first that came into the house, so we 
were the last that went out of it ; being resolved to have 
a clear passage for our old friend, whom we did not care 

125 to venture among the jostling of the crowd. Sir Roger 
went out fully satisfied with his entertainment, and we 
guarded him to his lodgings in the same manner that we 
brought him to the play-house ; being highly pleased, for 
my own part, not only with the performance of the excel- 

130 lent piece which had been presented, but with the satis- 
faction which it had given to the good old man. 



No. 359.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 157 



XXXIV. WILL HONEYCOMB ON LOVE. 

No. 359.] Tuesday, April 22, 1712. [Budgell. 

Torva lecena lupum sequitur, lupus ipse capellam ; 
Florentem cytisum sequitur lasciva capella. 

Virgil, Eclogues, ii. 63. 

As we were at the Club last night, I observed that my 
friend Sir Roger, contrary to his usual custom, sat very 
silent, and, instead of minding what was said by the com- 
pany, was whistling to himself in a very thoughtful mood, 
5 and playing with a cork. I jogged Sir Andrew Freeport, 
who sat between us ; and as we were both observing him, 
we saw the Knight shake his head, and heard him say to 
himself, '^ A foolish woman ! I can't believe it." Sir 
Andrew gave him a gentle j^at upon the shoulder, and 

lOoifered to lay him a bottle of wine that he was thinking of 
the Widow. My old friend started, and recovering out of 
his brown study, told Sir Andrew that once in his life he 
had been in the right. In short, after some little hesita- 
tion. Sir Roger told us in the fulness of his heart, that he 

15 had just received a letter from his steward, which ac- 
quainted him that his old rival and antagonist in the 
county. Sir David Dundrum, had been making a visit to 
the Widow. ^' However," says Sir Roger, '' I can never 
think that she'll have a man that's half a year older than 

20 I am, and a noted Republican into the bargain." 

Will Honeycomb, who looks upon love as his particular 
province, interrupting our friend with a jaunty laugh ; 
^'I thought. Knight," says he, '^ thou hadst lived long 
enough in the world not to pin thy happiness upon one 

25 that is a woman and a widow. I think that without 



158 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 359. 

vanity I may pretend to know as much of the female 
world as any man in Great Britain, though the chief of 
my knowledge consists in this, that they are not to he 
known." AVill immediately, with his usual fluency, ram- 

SObledintoan account of his own amours. ^^ I am now," 
says he, '^upon the verge of fifty" (though, by the way, we 
all knew he was turned of threescore). '^ You may easily 
guess," continued Will, ^'that I have not lived so long 
in the world without having had some thoughts of settling 

35 in it, as the phrase is. To tell you truly, I have several 
times tried my fortune that way, though I can't much 
boast of my success. 

" I made my first addresses to a young lady in the coun- 
try ; but when I thought things were pretty well drawing 

40 to a conclusion, her father happening to hear that I had 
formerly boarded with a surgeon, the old put forbid me 
his house, and within a fortnight after married his daugh- 
ter to a foxhunter in the neighbourhood. 

^^I made my next applications to a widow, and attacked 

45 her so briskly that I thought myself within a fortnight of 
her. As I waited upon her one morning, she told me that 
she intended to keep her ready money and jointure in her 
own hand, and desired me to call upon her attorney in 
Lyon's Inn, who would adjust with me what it was proper 

50 for me to add to it. I was so rebuffed by this overture 
that I never inquired either for her or her attorney after- 
wards. 

'' A few months after I addressed myself to a young 
lady, who was an only daughter, and of a good family. I 

55 danced with her at several balls, squeezed her by the hand, 
said soft things to her, and, in short, made no doubt of 
her heart ; and, though my fortune was not equal to hers, I 
was in hopes that her fond father would not deny her the 
man she had fixed her affections upon. But as I went 

60 one day to the house in order to break the matter to him, 



No. 359.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 159 

I found the whole family in confusion, and heard, to my 
unspeakable surprise, that Miss Jenny was that very morn- 
ing run away with the butler. 

" I then courted a second widow, and am at a loss to 
65 this day how I came to miss her, for she had often com- 
mended my 2^erson and behaviour. Her maid, indeed, told 
me one day, that her mistress had said she never saw a 
gentleman with such a spindle pair of legs as Mr. Honey- 
comb. 
70 '' After this I laid siege to four heiresses successively, 
and being a handsome young dog in those days, quickly 
made a breach in their hearts ; but I don't know how it 
came to pass, though 1 seldom failed of getting the daugh- 
ters' consent, I could never in my life get the old people 
75 on my side. 

^'1 could give you an account of a thousand other un- 
successful attempts, particularly of one which I made some 
years since upon an old woman, whom I had certainly 
borne away with flying colours, if her relations had not 
80 come pouring in to her assistance from all parts of Eng- 
land ; nay, I believe I should have got her at last, had 
not she been carried off by an hard frost." 

As Will's transitions are extremely quick, he turned 
from Sir Roger, and, applying himself to me, told me 
85 there was a passage in the book I had considered last Sat- 
urday, which deserved to be writ in letters of gold ; and 
taking out a pocket Milton, read the following lines, which 
are part of one of Adam's speeches to Eve after the fall : — 

"Oh ! why did our 
Creator wise, that peopled highest heav'n 
With spirits mascuUne, create at last 
This novelty on earth, this fair defect 
Of Nature ? and not fill the world at once 
With men, as angels, without feminine, 
95 Or find some other way to generate 

Mankind ? This mischief had not then befall'n, 



160 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY fNo. 359. 

And more that shall befall ; innumerable 
Disturbances on eartli through female snares, 
And strait conjunction with tliis sex : for either 

100 He never shall find out fit mate, but such 

As some misfortune brings him , or mistake ; 
Or, whom he wishes most shall seldom gain 
Through her perverseness ; but shall see her gain'd 
By a far worse ; or if she love, withheld 

105 By parents ; or his happiest choice too late 

Shall meet, already link'd and wedlock bound 
To a fell adversary, his hate or shame ; 
Which infinite calamity shall cause 
To human life, and household peace confound." 

110 Sir Roger listened to this passage with great attention, 
and desiring Mr. Honeycomb to fold down a leaf at the 
place, and lend him his book, the Knight pnt it np in his 
pocket, and told us that he would read over those verses 
again before he went to bed. 



No. 383.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 161 



XXXV. SIR ROGER AT VAUXHALL. 

No. 383.] Tuesday, May 20, 1712. [Addison. 

Criminibiis debent Hortos 



Juvenal, Satires, i. 75. 

As I was sitting in my chamber and thinking on a sub- 
ject for my next Spectator, I heard two or three irregular 
bounces at my landlady's door, and, upon the opening of 
it, a loud cheerful voice inquiring whether the philosopher 
5 was at home. The child who went to the door answered 
very innocently, that he did not lodge there. I immedi- 
ately recollected that it was my good friend Sir Rogers 
voice ; and that I had promised to go with him on the 
water to Spring Garden, in case it proved a good evening. 

10 The Knight put me in mind of my promise from the bot- 
tom of the staircase, but told me that if I was speculat- 
ing he would stay below till I had done. Upon my com- 
ing down, I found all the children of the family got about 
my old friend, and my landlady herself, who is a notable 

15 prating gossip, engaged in a conference with him, being 
mightily pleased with his stroking her little boy upon the 
head, and bidding him be a good child, and mind his 
book. 

We were no sooner come to the Temple Stairs, but we 

20 were surrounded with a crowd of watermen, offering us 
their respective services. Sir Roger, after having looked 
about him very attentively, spied one with a wooden leg, 
and immediately gave him orders to get his boat ready. 
As we were walking towards it, ** You must know," says 

25 Sir Roger, " I never make use of anybody to row me that 
has not either lost a leg or an arm. I would rather bate 
II 



162 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 383. 

him a few strokes of his oar iluin not employ an honest 
man that has been wounded in the Queen's service. If I 
was a lord or a bishop, and kept a barge, I would not put 

30 a fellow in my livery that bad not a wooden leg." 

My old friend, after having seated himself, and trimmed 
the boat with his coachman, who, being a very sober 
man, always serves for ballast on these occasions, we made 
the best of our way for Yauxhall. Sir Roger obliged the 

35 waterman to give us the history of his right leg, and bear- 
ing that he had left it atLaHogue, with many particulars 
which passed in that glorious action, the Knight, in the tri- 
umph of bis heart, made several reflections on the greatness 
of the British nation ; as, that one Englishman could beat 

40 three Frenchmen; that we could never be in danger of 
Popery so long as we took care of our fleet ; that the Thames 
was the noblest river in Europe ; tbat London Bridge was a 
greater piece of work than any of the seven wonders of tbe 
world : with many other honest prejudices which natu- 

45 rally cleave to the heart of a true Englishman. 

After some short pause, the old Knight, turning about 
his head twice or thrice to take a survey of this great me- 
tropolis, bid me observe how thick the City was set with 
churches, and that there was scarce a single steeple on 

50 this side Temple Bar. " A most heathenish sight I " says 
Sir Roger ; '' there is no religion at this end of the town. 
The fifty new cburches will very much mend the prospect ; 
but church work is slow, church work is slow I " 

I do not remember I have anywhere mentioned, in Sir 

55 Roger's character, his custom of saluting everybody tliat 
passes by him with a good-morrow or a good-night. This 
the old man does out of the overflowings of his humanity, 
though at the same time it renders him so popular among 
all his country neighbours, tliat it is thought to have gone 

60 a good way in making him once or twice knight of the 
shire. He cannot forbear this exercise of benevolence 



No. 383.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 163 

even in town, wlien lie meets with any one in his morning 
or evening walk. It broke from him to several boats that 
passed by us upon the water ; but to the Knight's great 

65 surprise, as he gave the good-night to two or three young 
fellows a little before our landing, one of them, instead 
of returning the civility, asked us what queer old put 
we had in the boat, with a great deal of the like Thames 
ribaldry. Sir Roger seemed a little shocked at first, but 

70 at length, assuming a face of magistracy, told us that if 
he were a Middlesex justice, he would make such vagrants 
know that Her Majesty's subjects were no more to be 
abused by water than by land. 

We were now arrived at Spring Garden, which is ex- 

75 quisitely pleasant at this time of year. When I considered 
the fragrancy of the walks and bowers, with the choirs of 
birds that sang upon the trees, and the loose tribe of peo- 
ple that walked under their shades, I could not but look 
upon the place as a kind of Mahometan paradise. Sir 

80 Roger told me it put him in mind of a little coppice by 
his house in the country, which his chaplain used to call 
an aviary of nightingales. ^^ You must understand," says 
the Knight, ^' there is nothing in the world that pleases a 
man in love so much as your nightingale. Ah, Mr. Spec- 

85 tator ! the many moonlight nights that I have walked by 
myself, and thought on the Widow by the music of the 
nightingales ! " He here fetched a deep sigh, and was 
falling into a fit of musing, when a mask, who came be- 
hind him, gave him a gentle tap upon the shoulder, and 

90 asked him if he would drink a bottle of mead with 
her. But the Knight being startled at so unexpected a 
familiarity, and displeased to be interrupted in his thoughts 
of the Widow, told her she was a wanton baggage, and 
bid her go about her business. 

95 We concluded our walk with a glass of Burton ale and a 
slice of hung beef. When we had done e'ating ourselves, 



164 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 383. 

the Knight called a waiter to him, and bid him carry the 
remainder to the waterman that had but one leg. I per- 
ceived the fellow stared upon him at the oddiiess of the 

100 message, and was going to be saucy ; upon which I rati- 
fied the Knight's commands with a peremptory look. 

As we were going out of the garden, my old friend, think- 
ing himself obliged, as a member of the quorum, to animad- 
vert upon the morals of the place, told the mistress of the 

105 house, who sat at the bar, that he should be a better cus- 
tomer to her garden if there were more nightingales and 
fewer bad characters. 



No. 517. J SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 1^5 



XXXVI. DEATH OF SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 
No. 517.] Thursday, October 23, 1713. [Addison^ 

Heu Pietas ! heu prisca Fides ! 

Virgil, ^neid, vi. 878. 

We last night received a piece of ill news at our Club, 
which very sensibly afflicted every one of us. I question 
not but my readers themselves will be troubled at the hear- 
ing of it. To keep them no longer in suspense, Sir Rog- 
5 er de Coverley is dead. He departed this life at his house 
in the country, after a few weeks' sickness. Sir Andrew 
Freeport has a letter from one of his correspondents in 
those parts, that informs him the old man caught a cold 
at the county-sessions, as he was very warmly promoting 

10 an address of his own penning, in which he succeeded ac- 
cording to his wishes. But this particular comes from a 
AVhig justice of peace, who was always Sir Eoger's enemy 
and antagonist. I have letters both from the chaplain 
and Captain Sentry which mention nothing of it, but are 

15 filled with many particulars to the honour of the good old 
man. I have likewise a letter from the butler, who took 
so much care of me last summer when I was at the Knight's 
house. As my friend the butler mentions, in the simpli- 
city of his heart, several circumstances the others have 

20 passed over in silence, I shall give my reader a copy of 
his letter, without any alteration or diminution. 

^' Honoured Sir, 

'' Knowing that you was my old master's good friend, 
I could not forbear sending you the melancholy news of 



166 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 517. 

25 his death, which has afflicted the whole country, as well 
as his poor servants, who loved him, I may say, better 
than we did our lives. I am afraid he caught liis death 
the last county sessions, where he would go to see justice 
done to a poor widow woman, and her fatherless children, 

30 that had been wronged by a neighbouring gentleman ; 
for you know, sir, my good master was always the poor 
man's friend. Upon his coming home, the first complaint 
he made was that he had lost his roast-beef stomach, not 
being able to touch a sirloin, which was served up accord- 

35 ing to custom ; and you know he used to take great delight 
in it. From that time forward he grew worse and worse, 
but still kept a good heart to the last. Indeed we were 
once in great hope of his recovery, upon a kind message 
that was sent him from the widow lady whom he had 

40 made love to the forty last years of his life ; but this only 
proved a lightening before death. He has bequeathed to 
this lady, as a token of his love, a great pearl necklace, 
and a couple of silver bracelets set with jewels, which be- 
longed to my good old lady his mother. He has bequeathed 

45 the fine white gelding, that he used to ride a-hunting 
upon, to his chaplain, because he thought he would be 
kind to him ; and has left you all his books. He has, 
moreover, bequeathed to the chaplain a very prettj 
tenement with good lands about it. It being a very cold 

SOtlay when he made his Avill, he left for mourning, to every 
man in the parish, a great frieze coat, and to every woman 
a black riding-hood. It was a most moving sight to see 
him take leave of his poor servants, commending us all for 
our fidelity, whilst we w^ere not able to speak a word for 

55 weeping. As we most of us are grown grey-headed in our 
dear master's service, he has left us pensions and legacies, 
which we may live very comfortably upon the remaining 
part of our days. He has bequeathed a great deal more 
in charity, which is not yet come to my knowledge, and 



No. 517.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 167 

60 it is peremptorily said in tlie parish, that lie has left 
money to build a steeple to the church ; for he was heard 
to sa}' some time ago, that if he lived two years longer, 
Coverley Church should have a stee^^le to it. The chaplain 
tells everybody that he made a very good end, and never 

GSSjieaksof him without tears. lie was buried, according 
to his own directions, among the family of the Coverleys, 
on the left hand of his father Sir Arthur. The coffin was 
carried by six of his tenants, and the pall held up by six 
of the Quorum. The whole parish followed the corpse with 

70 heavy hearts, and in their mourning suits, the men in 
frieze, and the women in riding-hoods. Cajitain Sentry, 
my master's nephew, has taken possession of the hall- 
house, and the whole estate. When my old master saw 
him a little before his death, he shook him by the 

75 hand, and wished him joy of the estate Avhicli was falling 
to him, desiring him only to make good use of it, and to 
pay the several legacies, and the gifts of charity which he 
told him he had left as quit-rents upon the estate. The 
C*aptain truh'^ seems a courteous man, though he says but 

80 little. lie makes much of those whom my master loved, 
and shows great kindness to tlie old house-dog, that you 
know my poor master was so fond of. It would have 
gone to your heart to have heard the moans the dumb 
creature made on the day of my master's death. He has 

85 never joyed himself since ; no more has any of us. 'Twas 
the melancholiest day for the poor people that ever 
happened in Worcestershire. This being all from, 
^' Honoured Sir, 

^' Your most sorrowful servant, 

90 ^' Edward Biscuit. 

'^ P.S . My master desired, some weeks before he died, 
that a book which comes up to you by the carrier should 
be given to Sir Andrew Freeport in his name." 



108 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 517. 

This letter, notwithstanding the poor butler's manner 
95 of writing it, gave us such an idea of our good old friend, 
that upon the reading of it there was not a dry eye in the 
Club. Sir Andrew opening the book, found it to be a 
collection of Acts of Parliament. There was in particular 
the Act of Uniformity, with some passages in it marked 

100 by Sir Roger's own hand. Sir Andrew found that they 
related to two or three points, which he had disputed with 
Sir Roger the last time he appeared at the Club. Sir 
Andrew, who would have been merry at such an incident 
on another occasion, at the sight of the old man's hand- 

105 writing burst into tears, and put the book into his pocket. 
Captain Sentry informs me, that the Knight has left rings 
and mourning for every one in the Club. 



No. 544.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 169 



No. 544.] Monday, November 24, 1713. [Steele. 

Nunquam ita quisquam bene suhducta ratione ad vitam fuit 
Quia res, ^tas usus semper aliquid apportet novi 
Aliquid moneat, ut ilia, quce te scire credas, nescias 
Et, quae tibi putaris prima, in experiundo ut repudies. — 

Terence, Adelph. Act v. Sc. 4. 

There are^ I think, Sentiments in the following Let- 
ter from my Friend Captain Sentry, which discover a 
rational and equal Frame of Mind, as well prepared for 
an advantaoreous as an unfortunate Change of Condition. 



"&' 



5 Coverley-Hall, Nov. 15, Woixestersliire. 

Sir, 

* I am come to the Succession of the Estate of my 
' honoured Kinsman Sir Roger de Coverlet ; and I 

* assure you I find it no easy Task to keep up the Figure 
10 ' of Master of the Fortune which was so handsomely 

' enjoyed by that honest plain Man. I cannot (with re- 
' spect to the great Obligations T have, be it spoken) reflect 
' upon his Character, but I am confirmed in the Truth 

* which I have, I think, heard spoken at the Club, to wit, 
15 ^ That a Man of a warm and well-disposed Heart with a 

* very small Capacity, is highly superior in human Society 
' to him who with the greatest Talents is cold and languid 

* in his Affections. But, alas ! why do I make a difficulty 
' in speaking of my worthy Ancestor's Failings ? His 

20 ' little Absurdities and Incapacity for the Conversation of 

* the politest Men are dead with him, and his greater 

* Qualities are even now useful to him. I know not 

* whether by naming those Disabilities I do not enhance 

* his Merit, since he has left behind him a Reputation in 



lYO SIR ROGER DE COVERLET [No. 544. 

his Country which would be wortli tlie Pains of the 
wisest Man's whole Life to jirrive at. By the way I must 
observe to you, that many of your Headers have mistook 
that Passage in your Writings, wherein Sir Roger is 
reported to have enquired into the private Character of 
the young Woman at the Tavern. I know you mentioned, 
that Circumstance as an Instance of the Simplicity and 
Innocence of his Mind, wliicli made him imagine it a 
very easy thing to reclaim one of those Criminals, and 
not as an Inclination in him to be guilty with her. The 
less discerning of your Readers cannot enter into that 
Delicacy of Description in the Character : But indeed 
my chief Business at this time is to represent to you my 
present State of Mind, and the Satisfactions I promise to 
my self in the Possession of my new Fortune. I have 
continued all Sir Roger's Servants, except such as it was 
a Relief to dismiss into little Beings Avithin my Manor : 
Those who are in a List of tlie good Knight's own 
Hand to be taken care of by me, I have quartered upon 
such as have taken newLeases of me, and added so many 
Advantages during the Lives of the Persons so quartered, 
that it is the Interest of those whom they are joined witli, 
to cherish and befriend them ujion all Occasions. I find 
a considerable Sum of ready Money, which I am laying 
out among my Dependants at the common Interest, but 
with a Design to lend it according to their Merit, rather 
than according to their Ability. I shall lay a Tax upon 
such as I have highly obliged, to become Security to me 
for such of their own poor Youth, whether Male or 
Female, as want Help towards getting into some Being 
in the World. I hope I shall be able to manage my 
Affairs so, as to improve my Fortune every Year, by 
doing Acts of Kindness. I will lend my Money to the 
Use of none but indigent Men, secured by such as have 
ceased to be indigent by the Favour of my Family or my 



No. 544.J SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY lYl 

self. What makes this the more practicable, is, that if 
they will do any one Good with my Money, they are 
welcome to it upon their own Security : And I make no 
Exception against it, because the Persons who enter into 
the Obligations, do it for their own Family. 1 have 
laid out four thousand Pounds this way, and it is not to 
be imagined what a Crowd of People are obliged by it. 
In Cases where Sir Roger has recommended, I have lent 
]\Ioney to put out Children, with a Clause which makes 
void the Obligation, in case the Infant dies before he is 
out of his Apprenticeship ; by which means the Kindred 
and Masters are extremely careful of breeding. him to 
Industry, that he may repay it himself by his Labour, in 
three Years Journey work after his Time is out, for the 
Use of his Securities. Opi)ortunities of this kind are 
all tliat have occurred since I came to my Estate ; but I 
assure you I will preserve a constant Disposition to 
catch at all the Occasions I can to promote the Good 
and Happiness of my Neighbourhood. 

' But give me leave to lay before you a little Estab- 
lishment wliicli has grown out of my past Life, that I 
doubt not, will administer great Satisfaction to me in 
that Part of it, whatever that is, wdiich is to come. 

' There is a Prejudice in favour of the Way of Life to 
which a Man has been educated, which I know not 
whether it would not be faulty to overcome : It is like a 
Partiality to the Interest of one's own Country before that 
of any other Nation. It is from an Habit of Thinking, 
grown upon me from my Youth spent in Arms, that I 
have ever held Gentlemen, who have preserved Modesty, 
Good-nature, Justice, and Humanity in a Soldier's Life, 
to be the most valuable and worthy Persons of the human 
Race. To pass through imminent Dangers, suffer painful 
AYatchings, frightful Alarms, and laborious Marches for 
the greater part of a Man's Time, and pass the rest in a 



172 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY [No. 544. 

Sobriety conformable to the Rules of the most virtuous 
civil Life, is a Merit too great to deserve the Treatment it 
usually meets witii among the other part of the World. 
But I assure you, Sir, were there not very many who 
have this Worth, we could never have seen the glorious 
Events which we have in our Days. I need not say more 
to illustrate the Character of a Soldier, than to tell you 
he is the very contrary to him you observe loud, sawcy, 
and over-bearing in a red Coat about Town. But I was 
going to tell you, that in Honour of the Profession of 
Arms, I have set apart a certain Sum of Money for a 
Table for such Gentlemen as have served their Country 
in the Army, and will please from Time to Time to 
sojourn all, or any Part of the Year, at Coverley. Such of 
them as will do me that Honour, shall find Horses, Ser- 
vants, and all things necessary for their Accommoda- 
tion and Enjoyment of all the Conveniences of Life in 
a pleasant various Country. If Colonel Camjjei'felt be 
in Town, and his Abilities are not employ 'd another way 
in the Service, there is no Man would be more wel- 
come here. That Gentleman^s thorough Knowledge in 
his Profession, together with the Simplicity of his Man- 
ners, and Goodness of his Heart, would induce others 
like him to honour my Abode ; and I should be glad 
my Acquaintance would take themselves to be invited 
or not, as their Characters have an Affinity to his. 
' I would have all my Friends know, that they need not 
fear (though I am become a Country Gentleman) I will 
trespass against their Temperance and Sobriety. Xo, 
Sir, I shall retain so much of the good Sentiments for 
the Conduct of Life, which we cultivated in each other 
at our Club, as to contemn all inordinate Pleasures : But 
particularly remember, with our beloved Tiilly, that the 
Delight in Food consists in Desire, not Satiety. They 
who most passionately pursue Pleasure, seldomest arrive 



No. 544.] SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 173 

130 ' at it. Now I am writing to a Philosopher, I cannot for- 
' bear mentioning the Satisfaction I took in tlie Passage I 
' read Yesterday in tlie same Tully, A Nobleman of 
' Athens made a Compliment to Plato the Morning after 
^ he had supped at his House, Yonr Entertainments do not 
135 ' only please when you give them, hut also the Day after. 
I am. My worthy Friend, 

Your most ohedient humble Servant, 

William Sentky. 



NOTES 



SPECTATOR, No. 1 

Motto. See Appendix I. 

13 own history. Compare the description in Spectator. No. 101. 

50 foreign countries. Travel on the Continent had for several 
centuries been considered essential to the education of a 
gentleman. For Steele's estimate of its value, see No. 364. 

56 controversies. This is supposed to refer to the Pyramido- 
gixtpliia of John Greaves, a Persian scholar, professor of 
geometr}^ at Gresham College, London, and afterwards 
professor of astronomy at Oxford. The work had been 
published in 1646, but in 1703 there appeared a pamphlet 
ascribed to him, and entitled The On'gine and Antiquity 
of our English Weights and Pleasures discovered by their 
near Agreement unth such Standards that are now found 
in one of the Egyptian Pyramids. 

68 Will's coffee-house, on Russell Street, Covent Garden, was 
the favorite of Dryden, and remained after his death the 
chief resort of wits and poets. In the days of The Spec- 
tator its credit was declining, and Addison withdrew, in 
1712, to Button's, a new house near by. Child's, in St. 
Paul's Churchyard, was, from its nearness to Doctors' 
Commons, the Royal Society, and the College of Physi- 
cians, the resort of clergjnnen, physicians, and members 
of the Royal Society. St. James's coffee-house, in St. 
James's Street, Pall Mall, was frequented by Whig states- 
men and members of Parliament. The Grecian, named 
from the fact that it was originally kept by a Greek, was 
in the Strand, close to the Temple, and was the resort 
chiefly of lawyers and of scholars, who went there 
to discuss questions of philosophy and learning. See 

175 



176 NOTES 

Spectator, No. 49. The Cocoa-Tree, a chocolate-house, in 
St. James's Street, was frequented by the Tories. Jona- 
than's, in Change Alley, was the resort of merchants and 
stock-jobbers. 

For a description of the coffee-houses of the day, see 
Spectator^ No. 49 ; for Addison's account of a visit to some 
of the most important of them, Spectator, No. 403 ; for the 
relation of the coffee-houses to the literature of the time. 
Green's History of the English People, bk. viii., cli. iv. 
Compare with Addison's description, Tatler, No. 1. 
72 The Postman, a penny paper, said, by Dunton the bookseller, 
to be " the best for every thing " of the papers of the day. 
See Tatler, Nos. 178 and 232. 
78 The Drury Lane and the Hay-Market were the only two impor- 
tant theatres of Addison's time. The Hay-Market v.^as 
used for the then popular Italian opera. 

117 lived in vain. For the moral purpose of The Spectator, com- 
pare Nos. 34 and 262. 

143 letters. A large number of letters was sent to The Spec- 
tator. See Nos. 16, 46, 271, 428,442. "Two volumes 
of Original and Genuine Letters sent to the Tatler and 
Spectator, were published in 1725 by Lillie, the per- 
fumer, with Steele's name on the title-page." — G. Gre- 
gory Smith. 

143 Little Britain, a short street near Bartholomew's Hospital, 
was " as great a centre for booksellers in the reigns of 
the Stuarts as Paternoster Row is now." — Hare: Walks 
in London. See Irving : Tlie Sketch-Book, Little Britain. 
The Spectator, in its first daily issue, was " Printed for 
Sam. Buckley, at the Dolphin in Little Britain ; and sold 
by A. Baldwin in Warwick Lane.^'' — Daily Courant, 
March 11, 1711. 

Addison signed his papers, C, L. , I., or O. ; Steele, R. 
orT. For Addison's answer to'" inquisitive gentlemen," 
on the subject of the signature, see Spectator, No. 221. 

SPECTATOR, No. 2 

1 society. The Spectator is full of references to the clubs 

which were so marked a feature of the time. See esj)e- 
cially Nos. 9 and 72. 

2 Sir Roger de Coverley. The character is said to have been 



NOTES 177 

drawn from a Sir John Pakington of Worcestershire. 
The attempt to refer the characters of Tlie Spectator to 
particular people is perhaps due chiefly to Johnson's state- 
ment, based on a remark of Budgell's, that they " were 
not merely ideal ; they were then known, and conspicuous 
in various stations." — Johnson : Lives of the Poets, Addi- 
son. The effort to find their originals has led to much 
antiquarian gossip, but the chief result has been to con- 
vince us of its futility. The real originals of the char- 
acters of The Spectator are the more lightly sketched 
characters of The Tatler. See Tatler, No. 271. 
4 Country dance. Tlie tune was at first known as Roger of 
Caulverley. For another name, see Tatler, No. 34. 

14 Soho Square, tlien a new and fashionable part of town. See 
Tatler, No. 37. 

43 Inner Temple, one of the four Inns of Court, Lincoln's Inn, 
the Inner Temple, the Middle Temple, and Gray's Inn. 
These societies, which originated in the thirteenth cen- 
tury, had the exclusive right of conferring the degree of 
barrister-at-law. They were called inns because they 
originally admitted pupils as boarders. 

71 tiU the play begins. " The Daily Courant for October 5, 1703, 
contains the following notice : ' . . . And whereas the 
Audiences have been incommoded by the Plays usually 
beginning too late, the Company of the said Tlieatre do 
therefore give Notice that they will constantly begin at 
Five a Clock without fail, and continue the Same Hour 
all the Winter.'" — Mary E. Litchfield. 

73 The Rose tavern, later included by Garrick in the Drury 
Lane Theatre, was at this time an actors' home, said to 
be the resort of "the looser sort of play-goers." — Henry 

MORLEY. 

172 Tom Mirabell. A gallant from Farquhar's Comedy, The 
Inconstant. 

SPECTATOR, No. 6 

26 Lincoln's-inn-fields, west of Lincoln's Inn, a square long fre. 

quented by roughs and beggars. 
70 Sir Richard Blackmore. Preface to Prince Arthur. Third 

edition, 1696. The sentences in the first quotation are 

separated in the original. 

12 



178 NOTES 

SPECTATOR, No. 34 

24 opera. For references to Italian opera, see Spectator, Nos. 

5, 13, 14, 18, 22, 29. 31. 
24 puppet-show. Spectator, Nos. 14 and 31, and Tatler, No. 16. 
118 Roman triumvirate. See Julius Ccesar, act iv., sc. 1. See also 

Plutarch, Antony. 
126 animadvert upon it. It should be remembered that Steele was 
deeply interested in the attempt to purify the stage. 

SPECTATOR, No. 37 

3 Leonora. Note a letter from Leonora in Spectator, No. 92. 
9 lady's library. Addison discusses this subject in Spectator, 
No. 92. Steele had alreadj^ touched on it in Tatler, No. 
248, and in 1714 he published a compilation called The 
Ladies' Library. See also Spectator, No. 79. 

11 lady came to me. For the supposed journal of a fashionable 
lady, see Spectator, No. 323, and The English Lady's 
Catechis7n, quoted in Ashton, Social Life in the Reign 
of Queen Anne, ch. viii. 

14 china. The mania for collecting china is frequently referred 
to in the literature of the time. See Tatler, No. 23, and 
Spectator, Nos. 37, 69, 252, 288, 299. 

47 Cassandra (1642) and Cleopatra (1647) were French ro- 
mances by the Seigneur de la Calprenede. 

49 Astrsea, a pastoral romance by Honore D'Urfe, bore a strong 
general resemblance to Sidney's Arcadia. 

51 The Grand Cyrus. Artamene, or The Grand Cyrus, by IMa- 
dame de Scudery (1648-1653), remained the most popular 
of the iieroic romances until superseded by the works of 
Defoe, Richardson, and Fielding. 

53 Pembroke. Sir Philip Sidney. 

57 The dictionary " may refer to Glossographia Anglicana 
Nova ; or a Dictionary interpreting such hard irords of 
ivhatever language as are at present used in the English 
Tongue (Loud., 1707)."— G. Gregory Smith. 

59 The Fifteen Comforts of Matrimony (1682) was an English ver- 
sion of Quinze Joies de niariage.—G. Gregory Smith. 

61 The Search after Truth, tlie best known work of the then 
famous Frenchman, Father Nicolas Malebranche, had 
been translated into English in 1694. 



NOTES I'^g 

64 The Academy of Compliments (1685). Books on manners and 
speech were iiuicli read at this time. Madame de Scudeiy's 
Conversations, translated into English, was exceedingly 
popular. 

66 The Ladies' Calling. " Tlie Ladies Calling, by the Author of 

the Whole Duty of Man, was a popular octavo, of which 
the seventh edition was published at Oxford in 1700." 
— G. Gregory Smith. 

67 Tales in Verse. Tales Tragical and Comical (1704). 

70 The Elzevirs were books printed and published by the Elzevir 

family at Amsterdam and some other places from the 
end of the sixteenth to the end of the seventeenth centurj-. 

71 Clelia. A second very popular romance (1654) by Madame 

de Scudery. 

73 Baker's Chronicle of the Kings of England. The ninth edition 

appeared in 1696. See Spectator, No. 269. 

74 The Advice to a Daughter " may be the translation of Fene- 

lon's Traite de Vediication des Jilles, referred to in No. 
95." — G. Gregory Smith. 

75 The New Atlantis, by Mary de la Eiviere Man ley. 

79 The Speech of Henry Sacheverell, D.D., upon his Impeachment. 

80 Fieldinj's Trial probably refers to one of the several short 

accounts of the trial for bigamy of a certain Robert 
Fielding. 
83 La Ferte's Instructions may refer to a Second Part of the 
Dancing Master, or Directions for Country Dances (1696). 
106 gardens. For a description of the new gardening to which 
Pope and Addison gave their allegiance, see Spectator, 
Nos. 414 and 477. 

SPECTATOR, No. 106 

105 The Bishop of St. Asaph was at this time Dr. William Fleet- 
wood His predecessor, who may be referred to, was Dr. 
William Beveridge. 

SPECTATOR, No. 107 

62 falls, alienates. " Another attendant or consequence of 
tenure by knight-service was that ot fines due to the lord 
for every alienation, whenever the tenant had occasion 
to make over his land to another."— Blackstone : Com, 
mentaries, bk. ii., ch. v., § 72. 



180 NOTES 

65 service. For corruption of manners in servants, see Ashton, 
Social Life in the Reign of Queen Anne, ch. vi. See 
also Spectator, Nos. 88 and 137. 

SPECTATOR, No. 108 

3 Mr. William Wimble. For Mr. Thomas Gules of Gule-Hall, 

the prototype of Will Wimble, see Tatler, No. 256. 
16 Eton College, one of the most famous of the great English 
schools, founded in 1441 by Henry VI., was situated on 
the Thames near Windsor. 
37 tulip-root. A passion for tulips, sometimes called Tulip 
Mania, took possession of Holland in tlie seventeenth 
century, and affected England to some extent at the same 
time. Mr. Bickerstaff refers to it in Tatler, No. 218. 
116 speculation. For discussion of the over-crowding of the pro- 
fessions and the evils resulting therefrom, see Spectator, 
Nos. 21 and 174. 

SPECTATOR, No. 109 

45 coflfee-house. Jenny Mann's Tilt- Yard Coffee-House w^as a 
military resort. "Tlie T ilt-Yard Isiy in front of the old 
Banqueting-Hall, towards Charing Cross."— G. Gregory 
Smith. 

55 petticoat. For a discussion of the new fashion of petticoat, 
see Spectator, No. 127. 

SPECTATOR, No. 110 

10 that call upon Him. Psalm cxlvii., 9, Prayer-book version. 
41 Association of Ideas. Essay concerning Human Understand- 
ing, bk. ii., ch. xxxiii., par. 10. 
95 Lucretius. De Rerum Natura, iv., 25. 
HI Josephtts. Antiquities of the Jews, bk. xvii., ch. xiii., § iv. 

SPECTATOR, No. 112 

Compare witli this paper the Spectator's remarks on be- 
havior in churcii in Spectator, Nos. 50, 158, 282, 380. 

SPECTATOR, No. 113 

10 Widow. Those who wish to know more of the lady wdio is 
accepted as the original of the Widow may consult 



NOTES 181 

Nichols's Illustrations, iv., 820, W. Henry Wills's Sir 
Roger de Coverley (1850), and an article in Lougvian's 
Magazine, April, 1897. — G. Gregory Smith. 
172 epigram. Martial, Epigrams, 1., Ixviii., 1-6. 

SPECTATOR, No. 114 

9o elegant author. Dr. Thomas Sprat, the Bishop of Rochester. 

He wrote a Life in Latin as a preface to the edition of 

Cowley's Latin poems. 
98 great vulgar. See Cowley's paraphrase of Horace's ode, Odi 

Profanum Vidgus : 

" Hence, ye profane, I hate ye all, 
Both the great vulgar and the small." 

— Essays of Greatrtess. 
132 life I love. Essays of Greatness. 

SPECTATOR, No. 115 

100 Dr. Thomas Sydenham (1624-1689), one of the most eminent 

physicians of his time. 
104 Medicina Gymnastica ; or, a Treatise concerning the Power 

of Exercise, with respect to the Animal Economy, by 

Francis Fuller (1704). 

114 exercises. Artio Gymnasticce a pud Antiquos, by Hieronymus 

Mercurialis, published at Venice in 1569. 

115 GKiouax'o. denotes either an exercise for the hands and feet, 

or a mock fight, fighting with a shadow. 

SPECTATOR, No. 116 

41 stop-hounds. " Henry H., in his breeding of hounds, 
is said to have been careful not only that they should 
be fleet, but also ' well-tongued and consonous ; ' the 
same care in Elizabeth's time is, in the passage quoted 
by the Spectator, attributed by Shakespeare to Duke 
Theseus ; and the paper itself shows that care was 
taken to match tlie voices of a pack in the reign also of 
Queen Anne." — Henry IMorley. 

61 horn. Act iv. , sc. i. Note Addison's use of mouths for 
mouth in tlie Shakespeare text. 
129 threw down his pole. " Only the gentlemen are represented 
as being on horseback, the huntsmen having leaping-poles. 



182 NOTES 

This was better for them than being mounted, for the 
country was nothing like as cultivated as now, and 
perfectly undrained, so that they could go straighter on 
foot, and with these poles leaps could be taken that no 
horseman would attemi)t." — Ashton : Social Life in the 
Reign of Queen Anne, ch. xxiii. 

145 Misery of Man. Pensees de Pascal, art. 7. 

178 Epistle xv. to John Dryden, Esq., of Chesterton, 11.73, 74, 

88-95. 

SPECTATOR, No. 117 

10 witchcraft. The law against witchcraft, passed in 1603, 
remained in force until 1736. In 1712, Jane Wenham 
of Walkerne was condemned to death for witchcraft, but 
by the efforts of the judge she was pardoned. In 1712, 
a Mrs. Hicks and her daughter, a child of nine, were 
hanged on the same charge. The jiersecutions of witches 
at Salem were at their height in 1692. 

50 wretchedness. The Orphan, act ii. 

SPECTATOR, No. 118 

1 This agreeable seat. Note in this paper the genuine love of 
nature. Compare Spectator, Nos. 393 and 414. For ob- 
servation of animals, see Spectator, Nos. 120 and 121. 

SPECTATOR, No. 119 

99 head-dresses. For a fuller account of their head-dresses, see 
Spectator, No. 98. See also Sydney's England in the 
Eighteenth Century, vol. i., ch. iv. 
105 post. For the letter, see Spectator, No. 129. 

SPECTATOR, No. 121 

16 Bayle. Bayle's Dictionary, published in 1695, was trans- 
lated into English in 1710. Bayle has been called the 
" Shakespeare of dictionary-makers." He was perhaps 
the most influential of the skeptical thinkers of the eight- 
eenth century. 

25 Dampier, a noted English navigator and buccaneer, published, 
in 1697 and later, accounts of his voyages round the world. 

68 instance. Essay concerning Human Under staiiding, hk. ii., 
ch. ix. 13. 



NOTES 183 

85 Henry More's Antidote against Atheisme, bk. ii., ch. 10, § 5. 

116 Mr, Boyle's remark. Disquisitioii about the Final Causes of 
Natural Things, § 3. 

137 The Royal Society was incorporated in 1662 by Charles II. 
It was formed in 1646 in Oxford for the informal discus- 
sion of questions of natural philosophy, and has since then 
been the most influential scientific body of England. 

166 Tully. Marcus TuUius Cicero, De Natiira Deorum. 

SPECTATOR, No. 122 

26 Game Act. This act, passed in the reign of James I., pro- 
vided that if anyone whose yearly income from real 
estate was less than forty pounds a year presumed to 
shoot game, lie could be deprived of guns, bows, dogs, etc., 
by anyone having a year!}' income from real estate of a 
hundred pounds or more, the goods thus taken becoming 
the property of the confiscator. This law remained in 
force until 1827. 
101 sign-post. The Saracen's head liad been, from the time of 
the Crusades, a favorite sign for inns. It usually repre- 
sented a man with a very savage countenance. 

SPECTATOR, No. 128 

50 The Gazette, the official paper. Steele was appointed gazet- 
teer in 1707. 
59 Mr. Cowley. Essays, The Danger of Procrastination. 

SPECTATOR, No. 125 

2 Parties. Party spirit was particularly intense and bitter at 
this time. For reflections on it, see Spectator, Nos. 57, 
81, 507, 629, and Tatler, No. 155. For the Spectator's atti- 
tude, see Spectator, No. 16. 
7 St. Anne's Lane, near St. Martin's le Grand and Aldersgate 
Street. Hare : Walks in London. Other authorities 
make it St. Anne's Street, Westminster. 
45 Plutarch says. Moralia, ii. 91, De Inimicorum Utilitate. 

Life of Pericles (towards the end). 
54 that great rule. Luke vi. 27-35. 

104 League. The Holy Catholic League, formed in 1576 to pre^ 
vent the accession of Henry IV., lasted till he became a 
Catholic in 1593. 



184: NOTES 

SPECTATOR, No. 126 

42 Diodorus Siculus. Latin version of Bibliothecce HistoriccBy 
lib. i., XXXV., Ixxxiii. 

SPECTATOR, No. 127 

No. 127 has little connection with the Sir Roger de Coverley 
Papers, but the exquisite description with which it begins 
is here given entire : " It is our custom at Sir Roger's, upon 
the corning in of the post, to sit about a pot of coffee, and 
hear the old Knight read Dyer's Letter ; which he does 
with his spectacles upon his nose, and in an audible voice, 
smiling very often at those little strokes of satire, which 
are so frequent in the writings of that author." For 
Dyer's Letter, see Spectator, Nos. 127 and 457. 

SPECTATOR, No. 130 

73 palmistry. Compare the pun at tlie end of Spectator, No. 
115, and see Spectator, Nos. 61, 62, 279, 396, 440. 

SPECTATOR, No. 131 

29 A city, in English law, is a town which is or has been the 
see of a bishop. Thus Westminster, which had been a 
cathedral diocese in the early part of the sixteenth cen- 
tury, did not lose its privilege when the bishopric was 
suppressed. 

48 ''White Witch." " According to popular belief, there were 
three classes of Witches,— White, Black, and Gray. The 
first helped, but could not hurt ; the second the reverse, 
and the third did both. White Spirits caused stolen 
goods to be restored ; they charmed away diseases, and 
did other beneficent acts ; neither did a little harmless 
mischief lie wholly ovit of their way :— Dryden says 
" ' At least as little honest as he could, 

And like White Witches mischievously good.' " 

— W. H. Wills, Sir Roger de Coverley. 

In Middleton's Witch, act v., sc. ii., we find reference 
to even wider range of color in spirits : 
'• Black spirits and white, red spirits and gray, 
Mingle, mingle, mingle, you that mingle may ! " 



NOTES 185 

See Macbeth, act iv., sc. i,, M-'here Rc.ve prints the 
witches' song thus : 

" Black Spirits and White, 
Blue Spirits and Gray." 

64 Popish priest. Note as illustrating the anti-Catholic prejudice 
of the time. 

SPECTATOR, No. 132 

13 Ephraim. The Quakers received the name of Ephraim from 
Psalm Ixxviii. 9. 

SPECTATOR, No. 174 

4 Roman fable. Livy, History of Rome, bk. ii., ch. xxxii. 
CoHolamis, act i., sc. i. 
81 merchants. For the growth of the commercial class, see 
Leek}', History of England in the Eighteenth Century, 
vol. i., ch. ii. See also Sj^ectator, No. 69. 
IIM tramples. This undoubtedly refers to the ruthlessness of the 
hunters of the time, who, from the days of Elizabeth to 
George III., were allowed to pursue the sport without 
regard to the losses of the farmers. 

SPECTATOR, No. 251 

6 ramage de la ville. The warblers, literally, the warbling, of 
the town. 
61 card-matches were made of card dipped in sulphur. 
110 colly-molly-puff. This little man was but just able to support 
the basket of pastry which he carried on his head, and 
sung in a very peculiar tone the cant words, which passed 
into his name, Coll3'-Molly-Puff . " — Greei^f. : Addison's 
Works, vol. i., p. 588. 

SPECTATOR, No. 269 

10 Gray's Inn "Walks were at this time a fashionable resort. 

13 Prince Eugene, a celebrated Austrian general who had co- 
operated with the Duke of Marlborough in the wars 
against France and the Netherlands, came to London in 
1712 upon a mission to regain the friendship of the English 
for the allies and to urge the restoration of Marlborough 
to his command. See Spectator, No. 340. 



186 NOTES 

19 Scanderbeg. See Spectator, No. 316. 

98 Pope's Procession. The procession of his Holiness took place 
annually on the 17th of November, in commemoration 
of the accession of Queen Elizabeth. It was always an 
occasion of much party tumult, and that of 1711 was 
elaborately prepared for. Tlie Tory government seized 
the images, and put an end to the j^rocession. See Swift, 
Journal to Stella, Letter 35. 

SPECTATOR, No. 329 

2 Westminster Abbey. Spectator, No. 26. 
32 at Dantzic. The great plague at Dantzic raged in 1709. 
71 little chapel. St. Edmund's chapel. 
76 statesman Cecil. William Cecil, Lord Burleigh, 
79 prick of a needle. The figure of Elizabeth Russell. The 
tradition was that she bled to death from the prick of a 
needle. 
86 coronation chairs. The newer of the coronation chairs was 
made for Mary, Queen of William III. The other is said 
to have been the chair of Edward the Confessor. It con- 
tains the famous stone of Scone, on which the kings of 
Scotland were crowned, and which Edward I. took with 
him to England in 1304 as a sign of his absolute con- 
quest of Scotland. Among the many traditions relating 
to the stone of Scone is one that Jacob had used it as a 
pillow. 
109 evil. King's evil, or scrofula, supposed to be curable by the 

touch of a king truly anointed. 
114 head. The head was stolen towards the end of Henry the 

Eighth's reign. 
133 Norfolk Buildings. In Norfolk Street, Strand. Note Sir 
Roger's change to a less fashionable neighborhood. 

SPECTATOR, No. 331 

75 Hudibras. The hero of a satire of the same name written 
by Samuel Butler. 

SPECTATOR, No. 335 

5 The Committee, by Sir Robert Howard (1626-1698), was writ- 
ten to ridicule the Puritans. 



NOTES 187 

9 distressed mother. The Distrest Mother, by Ambrose Philips, 
produced in 1712. 

14 Mohocks. Bands of London rowdies, supposed to be of the 
upper class, who delighted in assaulting and mutilating 
unprotected passers-by after nightfall. The worst out- 
breaks were in 1709 and 1712. For reference to them, see 
Spectator, Nos. 324, 332, 347, Tatler, No. 77, and Swift's 
Journal to Stella, Letter 43. 

35 four o'clock. See note on Spectator, No. 2. 

80 critic. The Spectator's reputation as a critic had been estab- 
lished by many essays, especially by the papers on Milton, 
issued on successive Saturdays from January 5 until 
May 3, 1712. See Spectator, Nos. 267, 273, etc. 

SPECTATOR, No. 359 

49 Lyon's Inn. One of the smaller law societies, called Inns of 

Chancery, whence students could be advanced to Inns 

of Court. 
87 pocket Milton. " Perhaps a good word for the pocket edition 

so frequently advertised by Buckley in the Spectator.'" — 

G. Gregory Smith. 
87 the following lines. Paradise Lost, bk. x., 11. 888-908. 

SPECTATOR. No. 383 

9 Spring Garden, or Vauxhall, was a favorite pleasure-resort of 
the eighteenth century. It lay on the south side of the 
Thames, and could be reached by land or water. It was 
opened immediately after the Restoration, was exceed- 
ingly popular in the second half of the eighteenth cen- 
tury, and was finally closed in 1859. See The London 
Times, July 26, 1859. Eighteenth century literature is 
full of references to it. See Austin Dobson s Eighteenth 
Century Vignettes, vol. i. 

19 Temple Stairs. A landing on the Thames near the Temple. 

43 seven wonders of the world. These were : the Egyptian pyra- 
mids, the mausoleum erected by Artemisia at Halicar- 
nassus, the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus, the hanging 
gardens of Babylon, the statue of Zeus by Phidias in the* 
temple at Olympia, the Colossus at Rhodes, and the 
Pharos, or lighthouse, at Alexandria. 



188 NOTES 

50 on this side Temple Bar, on the Westminster side of Temple 
Bar, a gateway formerly dividing Fleet Street from the 
Strand, and marking the western boundary of the city of 
London. 

52 fifty new churches. An act of Parliament passed in 1711 had 
decreed the building of fifty new churches to accommo- 
date the increasing population of London. 

SPECTATOR, No. 517 

" In No. 1 of the Bee (for February, 1733) Eustace Budgell, 
who set up that publication, and who probabl}' was the 
intimate friend of Addison's to whom he there refers, 
said of Sir Roger de Coverley, ' Mr. Addison was so fond 
of this character that a little before he laid down the 
Spectator (foreseeing that some nimble gentleman would 
catch up his pen the moment he quitted it) he said to an 
intimate friend, with a certain warmth in his expression 
which he was not often guilty of, By God, I'll kill Sir 
Roger, that nobody else may murder him.' Accordingly 
the whole Spectator No. 517 consists of nothing but an 
account of the old knight's death, and some moving cir 
cumstances which attended it. Steele had by tliis date re- 
solved on bringing his Spectator to a close, and Addison's 
paper on the death of Sir Roger, the first of several which 
are to dispose of all members of the Spectator's Club and 
break up the Club itself, was the first clear warning to the 
public that he had such an intention."— Henry Morley. 
^QQ Spectator, Nos. 530, 541, 549, 555, for accounts of 
other members of the club. Other papers in wliicli refer- 
ence is made to Sir Roger are Spectator, Nos. 100, 127, 
137, 141, 221, 271, 295, 338, 410, 424, 435, 518. 



APPENDIX I 189 



APPENDIX I 

TRANSLATION OF THE MOTTOES 

[The translations of the mottoes are taken from Henrj^ Morley's 
edition of The Sj^ectator.] 

The following paragraphs are interesting, as illustrating 
Addison's idea in using the mottoes : 

"When I have finished any of my Speculations, it is my 
Method to consider which of the ancient Authors have touched 
upon the Subject that I treat of. By this means I meet with 
some celebrated Thought upon it, or a Thought of my own 
expressed in better Words, or some Similitude for the Illustration 
of my Subject. This is what gives Birth to the Motto of a Specu- 
lation, which I rather chuse to take out of the Poets than the 
Prose-writers, as the former generally give a finer Turn to a 
Thought than the latter, and by couching it in few Words, and 
in harmonious Numbers, make it more portable to the'lNIemory. 

"I must confess, the Motto is of little Use to an unlearned 
Reader, for which Reason I consider it only as a Word to the Wise. 
But as for my unlearned Friends, if they cannot relish the Motto, 
I take care to make Provision for them in the Body of m}'^ Paper. 
If they do not understand the Sign that is hung out, they know 
very well by it, that they may meet with Entertainment in the 
House ; and I think I was never better pleased than with a plain 
Man's Compliment, who, upon his Friend's telling him that he 
would like the Spectator^ much better if he understood the Motto, 
replied. That good Wine needs no Bush.''' — Spectator, No. 221. 

For further remarks, read Nos. 271 and 296. 

No. 

1. HoR. Ars Poet. ver. 143. 

One with a flash begins and ends in smoke ; 
Another out of smoke brings glorious light, 
And (without raising expectation high) 
Surprises us with dazzling miracles. — Roscommon, 



190 APPENDIX I 

2. Juv. Sat. vii. 167. - 

Six more, at least, join tlieir consenting voice. 
6. Juv. Sat. xiii. 54. 

'Twas impious then (so much was age revered) 
For youth to keep their seats when an old man appear'd. 
84. Juv. Sat. XV. 159. 

From spotted skins the leopard does refrain. ^ — Tate. 

37. ViRG. uTJn. vii. 805. 

Unbred to spinning, in the loom unskillM. — Dryden. 

106. HoR. I. Odes, xvii. 14. 

Here plenty's liberal horn shall pour 
Of fruits for thee a copious show'r, 
Rich honours of the quiet plain. 

107. PhtEdr. Epilog, i. 2. 

The Athenians erected a large statue to ^sop, and placed 
him, though a slave, on a lasting pedestal : to show that the way 
to honour lies open indifferently to all. 

108. Ph^dr. Fah. lib. ii. v. 3. 

Out of breath to no purpose, and very busy about nothing. 

109. HoR. II. Sat. ii. 3. 

Of plain good sense, untutor'd in the schools. 

110. ViRG. ^n. ii. 755. 

All things are full of Horror and affright. 

And dreadful ev'n the silence of the night. — Dryden. 

112. Pythag. Car mill a Aurea, 1, 2. 

First, in obedience to thy country's rites, 
Worship th' immortal gods. 

113. ViRG. ^n. iv. 4. 

Her looks were deep imprinted in his heart. 

114. HoR. I. Ej). xviii. 24. 

The dread of nothing more 
Than to be thought necessitous and poor. — Pooly. 

115. Juv. Sat. X. 356. 

Pray for a sound mind in a sound body. 

116. ViRG. Georg. iii. 43. 

The echoing hills and chiding hounds invite. 

117. ViRG. Eel. viii. 108. 

With voluntary dreams they cheat their minds. 

118. ViRG. JEn. iv. 73. 

The fatal dart 
Sticks in his side, and rankles in his heart. — Dryden, 



APPENDIX I 191 

119. ViRG. Ed. i. 20. 

The city men call Rome, unskilful clou'n, 

I thought resembled this our humble town. — ^Va7'ton. 

120. YiRG. Georg. i. 415. 

I deem their breasts inspired 
With a divine sagacity. 

121. ViRG. Ed. iii. 60. 

All things are full of Jove. 

122. PuBL. Syr. Frag. 

An agreeable companion upon the road is as good as a coach. 

123. HOR. iv. Od. iv. 33. 

Yet the best blood by learning is refined, 
And virtue arms the solid mind ; 
Whilst vice Avill stain the noblest race, 
And the paternal stamp efface. — Oldisworth. 

125. ViRG. Mn. vi. 832. 

This thirst of kindred blood, my sons, detest. 

Nor turn your force against your country's breast. — Dryden. 

126. ViRG. ^n. X. 108. 

Rutulians, Trojans, are the same to me. — Dryden. 

130. ViRG. ^n. vii. 748. 

A plundering race, still eager to invade, 

On spoil they live, and make of theft a trade. 

131. ViRG. Ed. X. 63. 

Once more, ye woods, adieu. 

132. Cic. De Or at. ii. 4. 

That man may be called impertinent, Avho considers not the 
circumstances of time, or engrosses the conversation, or makes 
himself the subject of his discourse, or pays no regard to the 
company he is in. 

174. ViRG. Ed. vii. 69. 

The whole debate in memory' I retain , 

When Thyrsis argued warmly, but in vain. — P. 

251. ViRG. ^n. vi. 625. 

A hundred mouths, a hundred tongues, 
And throats of brass inspired \\\{\\ iron lungs. — Dryden. 

269. Ovid, Ars Amat. i. 241. 

Most rare is now our old simplicity. — Dryden. 

329. HoR. I. Ep. vi. 27. 

With Ancus, and with Numa, kings of Rome, 
We must descend into the silent tomb. 



192 APPENDIX I 

331. Pers. Sat. ii. 28. 

Holds out his foolish beard for thee to pluck. 
335. HOR. Ars Poet. 327. 

Keep Nature's great original in view, 

And thence the living images pursue. — Francis. 
359. ViRG. Eel. ii. 63. 

Lions the wolves, and wolves the kids pursue, 
The kids sweet thyme, — and still I follow you. — Wai'ion. 
383. Juv. Sat. i. 75. 

A beauteous garden, but by vice maintain'd. 
517. ViRG. ^n. vi. 878. 

Mirror of ancient faith ! 

Undaunted worth ! Inviolable truth ! — Dryden. 
544. Ter. Adelph. act v. sc. 4, 

No man was ever so completely skilled in the conduct of life, 
as not to receive new information from age and experience ; inso- 
much that we find ourselves really ignorant of what we thought 
we understood, and see cause to reject what we fancied our 
truest interest. 



APPENDIX II 193 



APPENDIX II 

SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY 

These suggestions are somewhat mechanically divided into two 
parts, the first adapted for general, the second for more detailed 
study. There is, however, no reason why the two should not be 
used together. Any question may be regarded as material either 
for class discussion or for exercises in writing. 



1. Compare the Spectator's introduction of himself with that 
of Irving in the Sketch-Book. Should you say tliat the latter had 
been suggested by the former? [No. 1.] 

2. Which of the following statements do you incline to believe 
true ? Give reasons for your opinion. 

"I have observed that a reader seldom peruses a book with 
pleasure till he knows whether the writer of it be a black or fair 
man, of a mild or choleric disposition, married or a bachelor, 
wdth other particulars of the like nature." — The Spectator, No. 1. 

'* No reader cares about an author's person before reading his 
book ; it is after reading it and supposing tlie book to reveal 
something of the w-riter's moral nature as modifying his intellect, 
—it is for his fun, his fancy, his sadness, possibly his craziness, 
— that any reader cares about seeing the author in person." — De 
QuiNCEY : Notes on Walter Savage Landor. 

3. Describe briefly the personal appearance of the Spectator as 
you imagine it from reading his account of himself. [No. 1.] 

4. Describe some typical scene at one of the places of general 
resort mentioned by the Spectator, reporting snatches of the 
conversation heard. [No. 1.] 

5. Trace the influence of Leonora's romance-reading in the 
landscape gardening of her country seat as described by Sir 
Roger. [No. 37.] 

6. What characteristics of Sir Roger do you infer from the 
description of Coverley Hall and the Coverley household ? Com- 
pare the position of Sir Roger in his household with that of the 
Vicar of Wakefield in his. [Nos. 106 and 107.] 

7. What light is thrown upon Sir Roger's character by the char- 
13 



194 APPENDIX II 

acters of his ancestors and by his own accounts of them ? [No. 
109.] 

8. Compare Addison's notions of pliysiology and hygiene with 
the more modern theories on these subjects. How far does the 
inadequacy or falsity of these notions impair the validity of 
Addison's conclusions as to the importance of physical exercise ? 
[No. 115.] 

9. Contrast the behavior of the Spectator and Sir Roger at the 
hunt. [No. 116.] 

10. Is Addison's semi-belief in witchcraft roal, or is it assumed, 
to put him in touch with his audience ? [No. 117,] 

11. What is Addison's idea of good breeding both in town and 
in country ? How far is this conception characteristic of the 
age of club and coffee-house? [No. 119.] 

12. Would the unity of the Sir Roger de Coverley Papers gain 
or lose by the omission of the papers on instinct in animals ? How 
can the insertion of these numbers be justified ? How does the 
character and aim of the Spectator limit the scope and method 
of this scientific discussion? [Nos. 120 and 121,] 

13. Is the Spectator's account of Sir Roger's speech in court 
consistent with j^our idea of the knight's character ? Defend 
your opinion. [No. 122.] 

14. What reasons were there for the intense party spirit of 
Addison's time ? [Nos. 125 and 126.] 

15. How is the inconsistency between Sir Roger's opinion of 
the gypsies and his treatment of them characteristic of him ? 
[No. 130.] 

16. Was Addison more at home in town, or in country? How 
far was this preference due to his temperament and training? 
How far was it characteristic of the age ? How do Addison's 
ideas of the pleasures of a sojourn in the country differ from 
those of a modern city man ? [No. 131.] 

17. Account for the different attitudes of Sir Roger and Will 
Honeycomb toward the cries of London. [No. 251.] 

18. Why did the Spectator discuss the cries of London ? What 
is gained by the device of the letter? [No. 251.] 

19. How do Sir Roger's intellectual limitations appear in the 
account of his visit to Westminster? [No. 329.] 

20. What evidence is given, in the Spectator's discourse on 
beards, of the writer's familiarity with classic writers and of the 
range of his general reading ? [No. 331.] 



APPENDIX II 195 

21. Supplement the paper on Will Honeycomb on Love by the 
reading of No. 530, and discuss the character of Will Honey- 
comb in the light of both papers. [No. 359.] 

22. Give an imaginary account of Sir Roger's visit to some 
modern park, summer-resort, or other place of amusement, such 
as, in New York City, Central Park, Coney Island, or the Recrea- 
tion P.iers. [No. 383.] 

II 

1. Why should the Spectator's introduction of himself fall into 
just nine paragraphs ? State in a single sentence the gist of 
each paragraph, so that taken together these sentences sum- 
marize the paper. Could any one paragraph be combined 
with another? Ought any paragraph to be divided into two? 
[No 1.] 

2. Read over the Spectator's descriptions of his companions, and 
notice the means he has used for making their various person- 
alities clear to us. Why are we told of Sir Roger's ancestry ? of 
his disappointment in love? of the duel and the encounter with 
Bully Dawson ? of the prosperity of Sir Roger's tenants and the 
expression on the faces of his servants ? of the attitude of young 
people toward him ? of his manners when on a visit ? of his 
offices, and how he performs their duties ? Re-write the Spec- 
tator's description of Sir Roger, substituting for these concrete 
details the abstract inferences you draw from them as to the 
character of Sir Roger. Note and define the resulting difference 
in the effect of the description. [No. 2.] 

3. Write a description of some household or circle of friends 
as you imagine the Spectator would see them. How does the 
tone of this description differ from that which you would natu- 
rally employ in writing about these same people from your own 
point of view ? [No. 2.] 

4. Write a sentence, either original, or quoted from the paper, 
which shall contain the substance of Sir Roger's disquisition on 
Men of Fine Parts. Sliow precisely what relation everything Sir 
Roger says in the paper bears to the idea expressed in this 
sentence. Does the "little story" quoted in the last paragraph 
help to establish Sir Roger's main idea? [No. 6.] 

5. Explain as to a child, by using specific illustrations, exactly 
what is meant by the rule which Sir Roger lays down in the 
second paragraph of the discourse on Men of Fine Parts. 
[No. 6.J 



196 APPENDIX II 

6. Prove or disprove, by giving specific instances, the truth of 
Sir Roger's statements, that "a wise man is not always a good 
man" and " the most polite ages are the least virtuous." If 
true, how would you account for this fact? [No. 6.] 

7. Re-write No. 34 in the form of direct discourse, being 
sure that each person speaks in his proper character. 

8. Write a brief statement of the character of Leonora as indi- 
cated by the books in her library. [No. 37.] 

9. Write a description of the library of some acquaintance ii^ 
such a way as to suggest his character. 

[As a test of the success of this description, it may be read by 
another member of the class, who shall write out a clear state- 
ment of tlie inferences he draws from it as to the character of 
the person indirectly described. This statement may then be 
compared with the first writer's idea of the character, and the 
description be revised accordingly.] 

10. Describe Sir Roger's library as you imagine it. 

11. Compare the position and character of Sir Roger's chaplain 
with that of the Vicar of Wakefield. [No. 106.] 

12. From Sir Roger's requirements for a chaplain, wliat could 
you infer as to religious conditions in the age of Anne ? [No. 
106.] 

13. By what devices does the Spectator make clear tlie char- 
acter and position of Will Wimble ? [No. 108.] 

14. Write an imaginary conversation in which Sir Roger, Sir 
Andrew^ Freeport, and Will Honeycomb discuss the position of 
Will Wimble ; or present in the form of a monologue the views 
of any one of these characters on the subject. [No. 108.] 

15. State the theme of each paragraph in No. 108, and show 
how it is developed. 

16. Tell, as to a child, the story of one of your own family 
portraits or photographs. [No. 109.] 

17. How do you account for the Spectator's attitude toward 
ghosts? How does it differ from Sir Roger's ? [No. 110.] 

18. Describe some house or outdoor situation which has 
always seemed to you a good setting for a ghost-story. [No. 

110.]* 

19. Write, by way of contrast to the Spectator's description 
of the Sunday services at Coverley Hall, a short account of those 
in a modern country church or in a modern city church, or in 
a meeting of the Salvation Army. [No. 112.] 



APPENDIX II 197 

20. Describe an interview between the Widow and the Spec- 
tator, and write such a description of the Widow as the Spec- 
tator might afterwards give to the club in the absence of Sir 
Roger. [No. 113.] 

21. Write some account of the Widow's meditations concerning 
Sir Roger after liis visit to her. (This account may, if desired, 
be cast into the form of a conversation between herself and her 
confidante.) [No. 113.] 

22. Write, witliout reference to a dictionary, careful defini- 
tions of the meaning of each of the following words as you under- 
stand them : (a) Economy, (b) Wealth, (c) A competency, (d) 
Poverty, (e) Frugality, (/) Parsimony. What new light is 
thrown upon the meaning of these words by a study of their 
derivation and history? [No. 114.] 

23. Are the following words or constructions justified by our 
present usage ? Substitute the present meaning or form. [No. 
114.] 

(a) " economy has the same effect which,'* 11. 1, 2. 

(b) pretending, 1. 3. 

(c) tolerable good aspect, 1. 9. 

(d) disHke at, 1. 16. 

(e) dipped, 1. 20. 

(f) is eating out, 1. 20. 

(g) proud stomach, 11. 21, 22. 

(h) rather than it sliall be said, 1. 25. 

24. Analj^ze Addison's argument in No. 115, stating clearly 
just wliat he aims to prove and how eacli point touched upon in 
the paper helps to establish this conclusion. By this test could 
anything be spared from the paper ? Sliould anything be added ? 
Can you suggest a more effective arrangement of the material ? 

25. Write a short argument on the necessity of bodil}^ exercise 
from the modern point of view, addressing it to any acquaint- 
ance of yours who seems to you ignorant or unappreciative of 
this truth. [No. 115.] 

26. Is the movement of tlie description in No. 116 rapid 
enough to represent the progress of the hunt itself ? Is it accel- 
erated as the hunt grows warmer ? How ? How is tlie descrip- 
tion furthered by the Spectator's withdrawing to a rise of ground 
just as the scent is taken ? Should we have gained so clear a 
picture of the hunt if Sir Roger had described it ? Give several 
reasons for your answer. 



198 APPENDIX II 

27. Describe a particular game of foot-ball, base-ball, basket- 
ball, golf, tennis, hare and hounds, or any outdoor sport, so that 
it can be clearly seen by one wholly unfamiliar with the game. 
To this end, reduce technical expressions as far as possible, and 
try to give a picture of the game which shall convey some notion 
of the pleasure it gives. [No. 116.] 

28. Examine carefully the statement in the first paragraph of 
No. 116 (that the soul's felicity consists in action), and also 
the quotation from Pascal in the eighth paragraph. Decide 
whether you believe these assertions to be true, and prove or dis- 
prove them according to your belief. 

29. Account for the division of this paper into paragraphs. 
What is the theme of each? Could any two paragraphs be 
thrown into one? Should any be divided? [No. 116.] 

30. Compare Addison's attitude toward witchcraft with his 
attitude toward gliosts. [Nos. 110 and 117.] 

31. What relation had Addison's attitude toward witchcraft 
to the popular beliefs of the age on this subject ? to the opin- 
ions of the best-educated men of the time? [No. 117.] 

32. Analyze tlie argument against belief in particular instances 
of witchcraft. Is it conclusive to your mind ? If not, how 
could it be made so ? [No. 117.] 

33. Are Addison's two statements, " that there is and has been 
such a thing as witchcraft" and that he " can give no credit to 
any particular instance of it," logically consistent ? Defend your 
answer. [No. 117.] 

34. Try to re- write the last ]>aragraph in No. 117 so as to avoid 
entirely Addison's wording. Does the passage gain, or lose, 
by the change ? Why? Point out the peculiar appositeness and 
force of such words or phrases as "begins to dote," " grow 
chargeable to a parish," " begins to be frighted at herself," 
"secret commerce and familiarities," "decrepit parts of our 
spesies," "in whom human nature is defaced." 

35. Why was there in the age of Anne an essential difference 
between the manners of country and town? Does this differ- 
ence exist to-day ? What conditions of modern life have tended 
to lessen it ? What did the Spectator accomplish toward this 
end? [No. 119. J 

36. Write a brief account of the most conspicuous differences 
you have noticed between the manners of country and city at 
the present time ; or illustrate these differences by a short narra- 



APPENDIX II 199 

tive in which city and country people are brought together, 
[No. 119.] 

37. State briefly Addison's argument in Nos. 120 and 121. 
What conclusions could you draw from these papers as to his 
observation ? his reading ? his reasoning powers ? 

38. Compare the diction of Addison's papers on instinct in 
animals, Nos. 120 and 121, with that employed in the description 
of the hunt, No. 116. State clearly all the differences you 
notice. Would the diction of the one be equally appropriate for 
the other ? Defend your answer. 

39. Choose ten words of Latin derivation from any paragraph 
of No. 120, and trace their history. 

40. Compare the Spectator's methods of telling a story with 
those employed by a modern writer, such as Kipling. Clioosing 
one of Kipling's short stories, note the differences between it and 
the story of Eudoxus and Leontine in (a) the explicitness of the 
moral, (b) the use of conversation and incident, (c) the vividness 
of characterization, (d) the concreteness of detail. How do 
certain of the stories read for college preparation (as The Vicar 
of Wakefield, Ivanlioe, and Silas Marner) compare in these re- 
spects with tlie Spectator's story and with Kipling's? [No. 128.] 

41. Try to re-write the story of Eudoxus and Leontine some- 
what after the modern fashion, reconstructing the plot, if that 
seems necessary. [No. 123.] 

42. Compare the theories as to the education of a young 
gentleman set forth in Nos. 123 and 108 and the methods by 
which these theories are presented to the reader. Wliich method 
seems to you the more effective? Embody the teaching of No. 
108 in an original story ; that of No. 123 in an expository 
essay. 

43. Revise Nos. 125 and 126 as far as seems necessary to 
make them applicable to present political conditions in America. 

44. Summarize Addison's argument against part}^ spirit. Can 
you make a counter-argument, defending where he attacks, and 
proving tliat non-partisanship is detrimental both ro individual 
character and to public welfare? [No. 126.] 

45. What value has the illustration of the ichneumon in estab- 
lishing Addison's jjoint ? that of the wild Tartars in the follow- 
ing paragraph ? Recall other illustrations used throughout the 
Sir Roger de Coverley Papers, and generalize from them as to the 
advantages gained from the use of illustration in writing upon 
abstract subjects. [No. 126.] 



200 APPENDIX II 

46. By what reasoning do the country people come to their 
various conclusions about the Spectator? What fallacy in their 
reasoning is pointed out by the Spectator ? [No. 131. J 

47. Describe an imaginary visit of Will Honeycomb to the 
country. 

48. State the theme of No. 131, and trace its development in 
each paragraph and sentence. 

49. Write a simple account of travel by stage-coach in England 
in the eigliteenth century. [No. 132. J 

50. Illustrate by several instances the truth of the statement 
made in the first sentence of No. 174. 

51. Discuss as fully as possible the moneyed interest of the age 
of Anne as represented by Sir Andrew Freeport, and the landed 
interest as represented by Sir Roger. Why should there be 
antagonism between them ? Does such antagonism exist to- 
day? [No. 174.] 

52. Write, so far as possible in Sir Roger's phraseology, the 
answer you imagine he would make to Sir Andrew Freeport's 
defense of merchants in No. 174. 

58. Write a conversation between a modern farmer and trades- 
man in which each shall defend his own calling against the 
aspersions of the other. [No. 174.] 

54. Note and explain all the references to contemporary history 
in No. 269. 

55. Compare the description of a country Christmas in No. 
269 with the more elaborate account of similar festivities in 
Irving's Sketch-Book. 

56. Compare Nos. 26 and 329 for the essential differences 
between Sir Roger's and the Spectator's views of the Abbey. 
Read in connection with these two papers Irving's essay on 
Westminster Abbey, in the Sketch-Book, and account for the 
differences between Irving's and Addison's treatment of the 
subject. 

57. Bring historic evidence confirmatory of the suggestions in 
No. 335 as to the condition of London streets at night during 
the reign of Anne. 

58. Discuss fully the place of the theatre in the social life of 
Queen Anne's age, comparing its position with that which it 
held in the Elizabethan period, and holds at the present time. 

59. Point out in the butler's letter to the Spectator those 
elements which contribute to its realistic effect. Why does 



APPENDIX II 201 

Addison say, " notwithstanding the poor butler's manner of 
writing it," the letter caused emotion in the club ? [No. 517.] 

60. Are you conscious of any essential difference between 
Addison's feeling for outdoor life as shown in these papers and 
that of some recent writer, as Tennyson in The Princess, or 
Lowell in The Vision of Sir Launfal 9 Define this difference as 
clearly as possible, and bring data to sliow that it is or is not 
characteristic of the two periods represented. 

61. Compare the humor of the Sir Roger de Coverley Papers 
with that of the Vicar of Wakefield. In what respects are they 
akin ? Can you point out any considerable differences ? Dis- 
tinguisli the humor of Addison and Goldsmith from that of 
Shakespeare, on the basis of the works of each writer which you 
have read. 

62. How could the Sir Roger de Coverley Papers be turned into 
the form of a story or novel? Plan such a novel, using the 
material given, and supplementing or altering it as seems 
desirable. 

63. How, in general, does the diction of these papers differ 
from that of the present day ? from that of Shakespeare ? 

64. Characterize the vocabulary of Sir Roger. Compare it 
wdth that of the Spectator himself ; that of Sir Andrew Freeport, 
Will Honeycomb, Will Wimble, and the butler, as judged from 
his letter in No. 517. 

65. Contrast Addison's sentence-structure with that of Burke, 
and account for the effect produced by each. Try to re-write a 
paragraph of Addison in such sentences as Burke would have 
used. How is the subject-matter modified by this treatment? 

66. Collect all the instances you can find, in the Sir Roger de 
Coverley Papers, of grammatical constructions now unusual or 
regarded as incorrect. What constructions have displaced them 
in modern usage ? Can you see any reason why the earlier form 
should have been supplanted by the later ? 



202 APPENDIX III 



APPENDIX III 

COLLEGE ENTRANCE EXAMINATION QUESTIONS 

[The following questions have been taken, in part, directly 
from examination papers of the various colleges, in part from 
the reprints in the Twentieth Century series of text-books.J 

AMHERST COLLEGE 

Write a composition of two or more paragraphs on each of 
three topics taken from the list below : — 
1. The Spectator's Account of Himself. 
3. Sir Roger de Coverley. 

3. A Sunday at Sir Roger's. 

4. Will Wimble. (June, 1898.) 

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 

Broadly compare and contrast the true presentation of char- 
acter found in Addison's Sir Roger de Coverley and Macaulay's 
Warren Hastings. Touch upon the following points : 1. The 
personalities presented. 2. The general method and form. 
3. Nature of the interest aroused in you. (August, 1898.) 

UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO 

Write a short composition on The Character of Sir Roger de 
Coverley. (March, 1898.) 

COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY 

Write an essay of two or three paragraphs on one of the follow- 
ing subjects : — 

(a) Sir Roger in Town. 

(b) Sir Roger's Household. 

(c) Will Wimble. (June, 1898.) 

Write an essay of several paragraphs on one of the following 
subjects : — 



APPENDIX III 203 

(a) Sir Roger and the People on his Estate. 

(b) The Spectator and the Other Members of the Club. 

(June, 1899.) 

(a) Sir Roger on Witchcraft. 

(b) One Wa}" to choose a Chaplain. (September, 1899.) 

CORNELL UNIVERSITY 

Write a paragraph of about seventy-five words on either (a) 

or (6):- 

(a) Sir Roger in Church. 

(&) The Coverley Witch. (1898.) 

JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVERSITY 

Write, with due attention to the form of your work, short 
essays upon either of the following subjects : — 
(a) Sir Roger and the Widow. 
(6) Sir Roger and the Saracen's Head. (June, 1899.) 

LELAND STANFORD, JR., UNIVERSITY 

What was the purpose of the Spectator? Did it accomplish 
tliis ]>urpose ? 

Describe very briefly the members of the Spectator Club. 

(May, 1898.) 
Describe Sir Roger de Coverley at Church. (May, 1899.) 

UNIVERSITY OF THE STATE OF NEW YORK 

Give from the Sir Roger de Coverley Papers an account of 

" A Sunday at Sir Roger's." (January, 1898.) 

Sir Roger at Spring Garden. (June, 1898.) 

Sir Roger de Coverley at Church. (May, 1899.) 

UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA 

Write a composition of not less than three hundred words 
on : — 

Sir Roger de Coverley. (June, 1898.) 

Sir Roger de Coverley and his Friends. (September, 1898.) 

PRINCETON COLLEGE 

Point out the leading features in the character of Sir Roger de 



204 APPENDIX III 

Coveiley, referring to incidents in the book to illustrate your 

statements. (June, 1898.) 

Describe Sir Roger de Coverley's household. (June, 1899.) 

SHEFFIELD SCIENTIFIC SCHOOL 

Write a short composition on : — 

Sir Roger de Coverley in Westminster Abbey. (July, 1898.) 

Sir Roger de Coverley's Visit to Vauxhall Gardens. 

(June, 1899.) 

SMITH COLLEGE 

State what impressions of women you have gained from Tlie 
Sir Roger de Coverley Papers, TJie Vicar of Wakefield, The Last 
of the Mohicans, and The House of The Seven Gables. 

(June, 1899.) 

What different kinds of interest have jou found in The Sir 
Roger de Coverley Papers, The Vicar of Wakefield, The Last of 
the Mohicans, and The House of the Seven Gables ? 

(June, 1899.) 

VASSAR COLLEGE 

What has made Sir Roger de Coverley an enduring figure in 
literature? (September, 1898.) 

Write a letter purporting to be written by " the Widow " to a 
friend on hearing of Sir Roger's decease, and characterizing her 
suitor. 

What was the aim and what the effect of The Spectator 9 

(June, 1898.) 
Compare the characters of Dr. Primrose and Sir Roger de 

Coverley. 
What was Addison's purpose in writing The Sir Roger de 

Coverley Papers 9 (September, 1899.) 

WELLESLBY COLLEGE 

Write a composition on one of the subjects suggested below. 
(It will be helpful to write an outline of the matter for the com- 
position before putting it into literary form ; but the outline is 
optional. ) 



APPENDIX III 205 

1. Give an account of Sir Roger de Coverley's care of his 
tenants at church. 

2. Describe Christmas at Sir Roger's. 

3. Describe Sir Roger going through Westminster Abbey. 

(June, 1899.) 
Describe the character of Sir Roger de Coverley. 

(September, 1899.) 

YALE UNIVERSITY 

Write not more than three hundred words on either of the 
following topics : — 

(a) Sir Roger at the Play, 

(&) Will Wimble. (June, 1899.) 

(a) Sir Roger in Church. 

(6) The Spectator's Club. (September, 1899.) 



206 APPENDIX IV 



APPENDIX IV 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 

It is assumed that use will be made, without special reference, 
of all good encyclopaedias and dictionaries of biography, of 
standard histories, and histories of literature. For this reason 
no mention is made of such invaluable reference books as Green's 
History of the English People and Macaulay's History of England. 

THE SPECTATOR 

Aitken, George A. : Tlie Spectator. Nimmo, London, 1898, 8 vols. 
Morley, Henry : The Spectator. Routledge, New York, 1891, 

3 vols. Routledge, New York, 1896, 1 vol. 

Smith, G. Gregorj^ : Tlie Spectator. Scribner, New York, 1897- 

98, 8 vols. 
Wheeler, William : A Digest Index to the Spectator. Routledge, 

New York, 1893. (Arranged for reference to the 1 vol. edition 

of Henry Morley's Spectator.) 
Green, J. R. : Selections from the Essays of Addison. Macmillan, 

New York, 1885. 

THE TATLER 

Aitken, George A. : The Tatler. Duckworth, London, 1898-99, 

4 vols. 

Tlie Tatler and Guardian. Nimmo, London, 1876. 
Ewald, A. C. : Selections from The Tatler and Guardian. 
Warne, London, 1888. 

ADDISON 

Aikin, Lucy : Life of Joseph Addison. Longmans, Brown, 

Green and Longmans, London, 1843. 
Beljame, A. : Le Public et les Hommes de Lettres en Angleterre 

au dix-huitieme Siecle. Joseph Addison. Librairie Hachette 

et Cie., Paris, 1881. 
Courthope, W; J. : Jose})h Addison. In English Men of Letters. 

Harper, New York, 1899. 
Johnson, Samuel : Addison. Chief Lives of Poets. Edited by 

Matthew Arnold. Holt, New York, 1880. 



APPENDIX IV 207 

Macauiay : Essay on Addison. Edited by Herbert A. Smith. 
In Standard English Classics. Giiin, Boston, 1898. 

STEELE 

Aitken, George A. : Life of Richai^d Steele. Houghton and 

Mifflin, Boston, 1889, 2 vols. 
Dobson, Austin : Richard Steele. English Worthies. Appleton, 

New York, 1886. 

GENERAL BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL REFERENCES 

Gay : Trivia. Poetical Works, vol. 1. Scribner, New York, 
1893, 2 vols. 

Thackeray, W. M. : English Humourists of the Eighteenth Cen- 
tury. The Four Georges. Henry Esmond. Works, Biographi- 
cal edition. Harper, New York, 1898. 

HISTORY AND SOCIAL LIFE 

Adams, W. H. D. : Good Queen Anne ; Men and Manners, Life 
and Letters in England's Augustan Age. Scribner, New York, 
1886. 

A.ndrevvs, William : Bygone England. Lippincott, Philadel- 
phia, 1892. 

Ashton, John : Social Life in the Reign of Queen Anne. Scribner, 
New York, 1882, 2 vols. 

Burnet, Bishop : Wstory of My Own Time. Oxford University 
Press, 1833, 6 voib. 

Burton, J. Hill : History of the Reign of Queen Anne. Scribner, 
New York, 1880, 3 vols. 

Lecky, William : A History ofEnglandin the Eighteenth Century. 
Appleton, New York, 1893, 7 vols. (Use index for reference.) 

Morris, Edward : Age of Anne. Scribner, New York, 1877. 

Sydney, W. Connor : England and the English in the Eighteenth 
Century: Chapters in the Social History of the Times. Mac- 
millan, New York. 1894, 2 vols. 

Traill, H. D. : Social England : a Record of the Progress of the 
People in Religion, Latvs, Learning, etc., from the Earliest Times 
to the Present Day. Putnam, New York, 1894-97, 6 vols. 







Lbu. 



